One Day
by notmuchmoretosay
Summary: Stale M&M's, book 4. "He knew the feeling. How they were there and then they just... weren't." [Don't read for the romance, it lasts for 6 chapters] Credit to cover image goes to xoxokokooxox on Tumblr.
1. Mercy: Sorry

**_A/N:_** _Cover image drawn by xoxokokooxox on Tumblr._

* * *

Oliver hobbled across the driveway, grunting and struggling as he finally managed to make it to the eagle truck. He sat in the back, catching his breath, and under his palm on the cool metal floor, he saw the old blood-stain; thinking of how it got there made him put his stump in his hoodie pocket.

A small shuffling noise caught his attention and as he glanced over his shoulder, he startled. "Mio Dio!"

Carl was watching him through the rear-view mirror from the driver's seat, silent.

"Jesus, man..." Oliver blew out through his mouth, clutching his chest. "I — I thought you were inside with the others."

Carl pressed his lips together, his thigh making that shuffling noise against the seat as his leg rocked side-to-side.

"Sucks you can't come with," he said.

Oliver shrugged. "Your dad's just looking out for me, until I—"

"'Till you can walk again," Carl said, "yeah, I know." There was quiet for a minute, until he kept talking. "I'm only scouting. You could just... sit here, keep me company."

Oliver's eyes rolled and he grinned.

"Yeah, yeah," Carl relented. He got out and walked around the truck. Oliver stood before he got to him, aware of the terrible squishy sensation in his shin when he put weight into his left foot. He steadied his crutch under his left arm and set his back straight and tall. Still, Carl was taller; Oliver was beginning to accept that this was likely not going to change anymore.

"Don't like the wheelchair Ezekiel brought?"

Oliver made an _eh_ noise.

"Want me to go get it for you?"

"No," Oliver said, "no, I'll get it."

"Okay." Carl looked like he wanted to say something else, but in the end just touched the back of Oliver's fist (which was gripping his crutch handle) and flicked their thumbnails, then got back in the truck. "See you later, man."

Oliver nodded to himself, starting back towards the house.

"Hey!" Carl called out. Oliver stopped to look at him, wobbling a bit on the first step. Carl was leaning out the window. "Sure you don't want help?"

Oliver snorted and kept walking, telling Carl, "Catch you later, young sir," as he heard him start-up the engine.

"Yep," Carl said, and drove away.

The weeks following were more or less the same as this. Every morning, Alexandria would wake up early to join Hilltop and the Kingdom in preparation for war against the Saviors; Rick, Maggie and Ezekiel would rally their people, build weapons, collect information and so on. Daryl would infiltrate enemy look-outs. And Tara and Carol would collect the herd. Even Carl had scouts and scavenging runs; looking for gas and anything else he could find. But Oliver? He babysat. Rested. With a diagnosis of _'one gunshot wound to the right bicep'_ , _'a left-sided fibula fracture and medial tibia dislocation'_ along with the good old _'you're already a handicap, dude, sit the hell down!'_ all finally summing up to a generous healing time of anything between five to seven months... _minimum_. It was miserable, really, but he was alive at least, and still had three out of four limbs even if only two of them were fully functional. The worst news was that he would likely not even heal properly. At best, he would have nothing more than a limp for the rest of his life and a bad case of arthritis as he got older; the Kingdom had a good doctor, but not the specific equipment needed for his surgery. The only place that _did_ have these things was the Sanctuary... which was the very thought Oliver was agitating himself over the morning the war began.

One redeeming fact to him was that he was not the only person staying behind. Rosita was still recovering from her gunshot wound, and Michonne stayed for Carl, who also had to stay. Oliver could see them, Carl and Michonne, outside seeing off everybody else. Oliver was inside, sitting in his wheelchair (which he'd aptly named Dick), figuring it best to keep out of everybody's way—also figuring he was probably just feeling sorry for himself, but at least nobody had to know about it.

He watched Rick kiss Judith, then Michonne, and then he took Carl's hat off, hugged him, then put the hat back. "This is the end of it," he said. He got in his car—armoured with metal sheets along the left-side, and drove away. Michonne and Carl talked for a minute, until she bumped his shoulder, then walked away.

Oliver wheeled himself back into his room; which was now on the ground floor to avoid any extra staircase use. A minute or two later, Carl came inside to find him lying horizontally across the single bed, out of breath after only just managing to get into this position, with his cast leg rested up on the desk chair. Music was playing from his stereo.

"Weird Al, again? Really?"

"Ovviamente!" Oliver replied, stretching his head backwards so his hair flopped up and his glasses sat too high on his face. "It's good for you. Reduces stress and all that other junk."

"You say that about all your music."

"That's because it's true," Oliver said, grunting as he sat up a little. He reached out. Carl touched his hand and did that thumb-flick thing as he sat on the bed with him.

"You stressed?" he asked.

Oliver shrugged.

"Worried, guess."

"Yeah, guess me too," Carl confessed. There was quiet. They were looking at each other. Oliver decided to sit up and kiss him. Carl grinned at him. "What was that for?"

"Stress relief," Oliver said.

"Thought we had your music."

"Well, I mean, if you'd prefer us to just sit here and listen to some, that's fine, too."

"No," Carl blurted, then laughed at himself. Calmer, he said, "No, man. You should totally kiss me like that again."

"Okay."

 _There's a suitcase poking me in the ribs_  
 _There's an elbow in my ear_  
 _There's a smelly old bum standing next to me_  
 _Hasn't showered in a year_  
 _Well, I think I'm missing a contact lens_  
 _I think my wallet's gone_  
 _And I think this bus is stopping again_  
 _To let a couple more freaks get on, look out_

 _Another one rides the bus_  
 _Another one rides the bus..._

* * *

Sometime later that afternoon, Carl sat up and checked the alarm clock on Oliver's bedside. "Dammit," he said, "I'm late."

Oliver was reading a book, curled up on his side, and looked at Carl over his shoulder. He was rushing around the room, gathering his things. "Late for what?"

"A thing." Carl yanked on an old flannel shirt.

Oliver sat up and pointed to his wheelchair. "Dick, please?"

Carl pushed it over and helped him in, but left him to put on his boots. Once he had, Oliver leaned over to look in Carl's orange duffel bag; being filling with various things Carl would take with him for any regular scout.

"You already went out today," Oliver said, popping some pain pills.

"It's just an errand."

"How long will you be gone?"

"Not long. Just dropping something off."

Oliver watched Carl rush around the room, and then, all of a sudden, he dumbed his orange duffel into Oliver's lap, took Dick's handles, and pushed Oliver out of the bedroom.

"Whoa, wait, what are you doing?"

"You're coming with."

Oliver twisted around as he was pushed through the living room. Carl looked serious.

"But your dad—"

"Isn't here." Carl stopped at the front door, put the duffel over his shoulder, and helped Oliver to his feet. "You in?"

"What if Michonne finds out?"

"She'll be on my side."

"She will?"

"Yes," Carl said, under Oliver's arm as they descended the porch steps.

"And me?"

" _You..._ just gotta sit in the truck."

Oliver smirked. "Keep you company?"

"Yeah," Carl grinned. "Keep me company."

Next thing Oliver knew, he was waiting in the eagle truck's passenger seat while Carl came back from the pantry with two cans in hand, which he stuffed among his duffel things. He got in. He started up. And he drove.

Twenty minutes away from Alexandria, Carl slowed as he came up to an old gas station. According to him, he'd driven here the same morning: "Some guy called me out," he said. "Said he'd been shot at. That, someone threw a microwave at'm."

Oliver's eyebrows went up.

"Told me something his mom used to say," Carl went on, weaving the truck through some neglected cars. " _'Whatever you have of good, spend on the traveller,'_. He said, _'Helping — that's everything,'_." He shrugged. "Dunno, just thought it was a neat thing to say."

"He say anything else?" Oliver asked.

Carl thought, and then said, " _'May my mercy prevail over my wrath.'_. From the Quran or something."

"He was Muslim?"

Carl parked. "Either way, Dad drove him off before I could help him, so..." Oliver watched Carl grab a piece of old magazine from the glovebox, tear out a page, and write the word _'SORRY'_ across it.

He was only gone for a minute before he returned with two less cans in his possession and a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Done," he said, and kissed Oliver once on the forehead.

"Home?" Oliver asked.

"Home," Carl said.

* * *

 **Notes:**

Song was _Another One Rides the Bus_ by Weird Al Yankovic. Thanks to my flatmate _PinePitch_ for the help on diagnosing and writing Oliver's broken leg.

Finna write this shit in past-tense/close-third-person from now on I think but I'll probably change my mind as I go look fam boi amigo let me be and just read if you want thanks a million also I dunno if it's weird that I'm using Oliver/Patrick/Carl crossover-throw-backs or whatever _("Catch you later, young sir.")_ but I'm heckin doin it anyway.

Happy reading.


	2. The King, the Widow & Rick, P1: Radio

**_Summary:_**

 _Facetime, but... without the face, or the time._

* * *

 ** _A/N:_** _Lack of chapters is not my fault twd ain't throwin me no bones this year also gonna reply to comments in PMs now to lower word count but I'll still answer questions in notes occasionally_

* * *

"Are you there? Hey, you there? Come _on_ , it's me." Oliver had received nothing but static from his portable CB radio for fifteen minutes now. He checked his wristwatch, then checked it again. He sat back in Dick and held his breath.

"Maybe she's still helping the others?" Barbra said from the table across the room, wrestling Judith over where her porridge was supposed to go: Judith's mouth, or Barbra's hair.

Oliver checked his watch again. He didn't say so (he was still holding his breath), but Enid and Maggie should've gotten back to Hilltop hours ago. Anxious, he tapped his radio. He'd been gifted it by Ezekiel, along with Dick. "Lani wishes for you to keep in contact. Use it wisely, young warrior." So he did. Unfortunately, the Kingdom was out of range. But the Hilltop wasn't, and after a few days of talking to Enid, Oliver began recognising other voices. Saviors. Nothing from the Sanctuary (it and Kingdom were almost next-door neighbours) but the range was catching closer outposts. With this secret advantage, Oliver'd been able to confirm that Dwight, who was still slipping Daryl information, had been telling the truth all along. It was crucial, finding this, and just about the only thing making Oliver feel useful enough not to go insane.

"Try to distract yourself," Barbra said in his silence, "and _breathe,_ for Christ's sake." He did. Barbra gave him a disapproving look, then handed him an orange, beady-eyed, little kitten (Judy had taken to calling it Birds). "Here," she insisted.

Oliver resigned himself to uselessness and set Birds on his lap. At five weeks old, Scab's kittens had become a lot more adventurous and independent. Only three had lived this far; Tara said it had to have been some kind of syndrome or fever that killed the other five.

Another dusty-coloured kitten came along (Judy called him Full Clip, after a particularly long day in the armoury last week). Oliver had to pry Full Clip off Dick's left wheel in his attempt to join his sibling.

Finally, Barbra unstuck porridge and honey from her hair and released Judith from the highchair, all while Oliver wheeled himself towards the front door. It was difficult with one hand; he had to push one wheel at a time, doing his best to avoid bumping anything with his leg, as well as keeping the radio station on his lap and trying to stop Full Clip and Birds from climbing his shoulders. In the end, Barbra took pity and pushed him out onto the porch herself.

"Thanks," he said, trying to mean it, trying to put the kittens down—they seemed to be experts at taking advantage of his debilities, clinging to all the places he couldn't reach. He wished he could use his prosthetic, but that wasn't happening until his arm healed.

"Do you need anything else?" Barbra asked.

"No," Oliver said, "no, I'm fine."

She hovered. _Everybody_ hovered, even the kittens. Oliver waited for her to go back inside, then waited some more for his face to cool down, poking Birds to distract her from eating his hair. Finally, Oliver started switching through channels for any noise. There shouldn't have been much by now, with how busy the Saviors would be defending the Sanctuary. Thankfully, the world within twenty-five miles was empty with static. There was a faint whisper somewhere between channel eighty and eighty-seven (probably someone in a closer outpost—the guys Alexandria had to keep on the defence for while the others were gone, just in case) but Oliver couldn't decipher anything, so he switched to forty-nine and retried for Enid.

"Hey..." They couldn't use names: one of the many rules they followed to have Rick's blessing to use them, as well as never sharing any information. "Are you there? Are you there? Are you—"

Static startled him.

 _"Here, here. I'm here! Sorry, my range sucks."_

"It's okay. Did—" Suddenly, Dick jolted. Oliver realised it was only Rosita, sitting in the porch rocking chair behind him. She kicked him again.

"Wheel your butt over here," she said, "wanna listen." Rosita wasn't a hoverer. Oliver appreciated this. Strategically, he used his toe to push Dick closer to her. She took both kittens. Oliver returned focus to the radio.

"So, did you eat today?" This was code for: _Any updates?_ If Enid listed things that tasted nice, progress involving the war was going well. If she listed anything gross, it was bad.

 _"Not yet. Baking apple pie,"_ she said. _"Now we're just waiting to see how it turns out."_

Oliver sighed, nodding to let Rosita know it was good news.

"Cool. And, how are you?" This wasn't code for anything. It was just his question.

 _"I'm okay,"_ Enid said, _"little tired."_ Her voice was soft despite the way the radio cracked it up a little; it made Oliver miss her like crazy.

"You're working hard," he said, "you know, baking... and everything."

 _"Yeah..."_ The static came back for a second as she let go of the PTT button. There was so much to say, but nothing safe enough to say aloud. It was depressing as hell, really. Still, somehow Enid could always think of something: _"Was given a sternum guard today. Also got called dude like a million times."_

"Cool."

 _"It was,"_ she said, _"even though I wasn't offered any of that other stuff you talked about."_

Oliver snickered. "You obviously didn't say 'gnarly' or 'stellar' enough."

 _"Guess not."_

Oliver heard Enid laugh and felt the healing in his leg and arm speed up. He only realised he was gnawing on the radio cable with his teeth when Rosita snorted at him.

"What's she talking about?" she asked.

"Oh," Oliver made sure his finger was off the PTT button for this, "I guess she's talking about Jerry, and that she wanted some weed from him."

"He deals to kids?"

"Sometimes, I guess," Oliver confessed.

Rosita tutted through her teeth. "Tonto."

Oliver held his face still, keeping to himself that _'tonto'_ in Italian meant something a little different to how she meant it in Spanish. Still, he must not have been convincing because Rosita's eyes narrowed, but she let it go because Oliver had his finger on the PTT button again.

He wanted to ask Enid how Maggie was, if Bean was helping look after the place, if Roan was behaving okay and exercising enough. He wanted to know if Enid spoke to Carol today, or if anybody else had been there like Morayo or Joey or Lani or Esme (Leviathan was probably too young, like Carl), but he couldn't ask, not without risking any eavesdropping Saviors catching on, not this close to the end, so the topic would have to wait.

The silence over the radio went on for a little too long.

 _"Uh. What're you up to?"_ Enid asked.

"I dunno," Oliver answered, "might go get chocolate." He looked at his leg. The cast stretched all the way from his foot up to his thigh; to accommodate for this, he could only wear one shoe, oversized jeans or sport-shorts, and as well as never being able to properly bend his leg, there was always this itch that was just a little too far to scratch. He sighed. "Second thought, I'll probably just keep sitting around."

 _"Enthralling."_

"Yep." Oliver winced in an attempt to find something else to say. "Err. What about you?"

 _"About to go on watch._ _I should probably get to it..."_

"Yeah." Oliver hated how short their talks had to be.

 _"Later,"_ Enid said.

"Later."

Oliver and Rosita sat for a few minutes in static, watching Scab appear through the window. She hopped up onto the arm of Rosita's chair, and one by one, carried Full Clip and Birds back inside by the scruff.

* * *

Later, Carl arrived back from watch. Barbra was preparing casserole. Carl took over while she went for watch duties. The smell reminded Oliver of Carol and he found himself on the opposite side of the island, chin rested on the countertop, watching Carl put the casserole in the oven and set the timer. Carl noticed this. He took something foil out of his pocket and slid it across to him.

"Chocolate?" Oliver asked.

"Last one," Carl said.

Grunting thanks, Oliver grabbed it and dug in, sharing a piece. Some minutes passed before Carl spoke to him again.

"What is it?" he asked, starting on washing dishes.

"Mm?" Oliver mumbled.

Carl pointed across the island at him. "You're looking at me."

"Yeah. I do that."

Carl turned away to continue washing at the sink, shaking his head.

"I was thinking," Oliver admitted.

"'Bout what?"

"You," Oliver said. Carl stopped what he was doing for a second, his back still turned away. Oliver frowned, both arms on the island counter. "I was thinking that I'm gonna heal real fast."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And I'm gonna get strong again. Strong enough to do normal stuff, like skateboard and pee standing up and get dressed by myself. You know? Wear pants, and my prosthetic, and have sex."

Carl looked at him.

"We do other stuff," he said.

Oliver grumbled to himself, then smiled — a dish cloth hit his face.

"Head out of the clouds, dirt-brain," Carl said. "You might be disabled, but you can still help me dry dishes."

Oliver let Carl wheel him over to the sink, and just as they were finishing the dishes, a familiar radio noise pipped and screeched from upstairs:— _"Hey. Hey... Come in. Come in."_ Quickly, and without hesitation, Oliver flung himself from Dick and began crawling across the kitchen, dragging himself by his foot and hand—the kittens found this hilarious, and did all they could to climb on his back like he was a horse, except the white kitten (this one didn't have a name yet), who sat off to the side watching curiously. Finally, Oliver was at the staircase and butt-scooting up backwards, grunting and keeping his cast off the ground.

Carl simply watched all this happen, cheese grater in hand and Scab circling under his feet, until Oliver was sitting at the top of the stairs, out of breath.

"You look..." Carl snorted while he tried to find the right word. "... _awesome_ , when you do that. Totally awesome."

"Whatever." Oliver disappeared down the hallway. _"Come in. Someone, please, come in."_ "Why'd you put it in _your_ room anyway?! God, it's up on the dresser!"

"Hang on, I'll get it!" Carl went up, dodging kittens. He grabbed the radio and paced his room with it. "Hey. It's me."

 _"Hey. I have news."_

"Gimmie!" Oliver, lying on his belly, grabbed at Carl's pant leg, causing him to trip.

"Just a sec," Carl grunted, struggling away. "Hey, wait your turn, man!"

 _"Guys! This is serious..."_ Enid was yelling now.

"Sorry, that wasn't me. _This_ is me," is what Oliver tried to say, but Carl snatched the radio again.

"Fine. _Other_ me here. Hi," he said.

 _"Hi?"_

"Dude!"

"Ignore him," Carl said. "He's just cranky because there's no chocolate left." Oliver's stomach squirmed at the thought, but he gave up, and the two boys huddled together on the rug next to the bed. "So, what's going on?"

There was a pause of static.

 _"I don't know how to start without saying too much."_

"Well, is it over yet?" Carl asked.

 _"I don't think so..."_

The two boys glanced at each other, then let her keep talking.

 _"Look, this probably won't make much sense but I'm gonna try to explain anyway: A bad egg came back in one of your baskets. The good egg is gone. And... And one of our good eggs came back with a_ whole _bunch of bad eggs. Like, rotten, decomposed, inedible bad eggs..."_

"Erm, Oliver?" Carl asked.

Oliver took the receiver, but realised he didn't know what to say.

 _"Please tell me you understood some of that."_

Carl shook his head. Oliver grimaced and shrugged at him. "Err..."

 _"Never mind. You'll find out soon."_

"Well, are you safe?" Oliver asked.

 _"That's kind of subjective right now. But I can take care of myself."_

"Is anybody dead?"

There was a lot of quiet after that.

 _"Yeah..."_ she said.

"We should stop talking about it," Oliver said, watching a very stoic-looking Carl, "it's not safe yet."

 _"Yeah. Yeah, okay. Stay safe."_

"You too. Later."

Oliver switched the radio off and pushed it aside, staring blankly at the white kitten curled up against his thigh. Carl, sitting across from him, raised his hand and pushed it between the kitten's ears. She shut her eyes and purred.

"It's gonna be okay," Carl said.

Oliver didn't say anything.

"Could've been worse," Carl added, "eggs are Enid's specialty."

"I think it was just the best analogy she could come up with."

"Yeah well, you were always the pessimist."

Oliver huffed out a laugh. "Not always."

Carl smiled.

"I think she means some of Hilltop are back already," Oliver moved on, "which means the King and his regiment are getting the big gun from the chemical plant, or they already have, or, you know, they haven't..."

"Dad and Daryl will help, once they get done at the Sanctuary. They know the plan."

"I should be there," Oliver hissed. "I should—"

"Shut up."

Oliver did, with a bitter scowl on his face. He gathered his thoughts enough to take a deep breath in and say, "

"Nope," Carl said.

"What?"

"Let that breath out. Don't say what you are about to say. And forget you ever thought about it."

"You don't even know what I want to say!"

"You want me to drive you out to Hilltop."

Oliver had to shut his mouth.

"Alright, you do know." He ran his hand through his hair and went into a small fit of Italian curses, then calmed down and said, "You're breaking my _balls_ here, man."

Carl gave him a look; one he got very rarely these days, like the looks he got a lot back around the time he returned from the Kingdom. Oliver knew Carl was worried, and stressed, and overwhelmed, so he pushed the idea away and apologised. Carl simply got up and left the room. Oliver thought he'd really done something wrong, but Carl came back quickly with his sketchpad in hand, plucking a pencil from behind his ear. Had it been there the whole time?

Oliver watched in silence while Carl drew what looked like a small, abstract owl. It took him a few minutes, and when it was finished Carl tossed the pad across to Oliver. It was beautiful—most of Carl's drawings were these days, not so full of gore or horror or death; in truth, Oliver liked those too, but at least this was a sign that Carl was content.

"It looks like that owl in Clash of the Titans," Oliver pointed out.

Carl frowned.

"You know," Oliver said, "the cute, little, mechanical owl? Bubo?"

Carl's face remained flat and indifferent. Oliver had to not laugh, amazed by how they possibly got on so well when they had such different senses of humour.

Carl told him, "I was kinda thinking more between Jessie's tattoo—" _Oh... duh._ "—and also the sculpture she made, you know, with Ron and Sam? The one that broke."

Oliver nodded. Carl took the pad back and made some adjustments to the drawing; deepening the eyes, ruffling the feathers, sharpening the talons. He began flipping back through older drawings, then returned to his owl again. He watched it, like he was waiting for something to happen. He scratched his chin.

"Kinda wanna re-make it," he said, like it was a confession.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

They didn't really talk much more about it. Carl went on drawing and Oliver watched him, remembering back to the day they were down in the tombs together, when Carl had told him that sometimes it wasn't nice to remember things, that sometimes it wasn't healthy. It was funny how time changed you like that.

Finally, Carl looked up.

"Wanna take a walk?"

Oliver nodded, and then he was being helped outside, into Dick, with Judith on his lap, and pushed slowly along the sidewalk. The three of them went to the lake and skipped stones until the sun was beginning to set, and it was starting to get cold. They were about to head home when they heard engines from outside the gate.

Carl wheeled Oliver and Judith to the sidewalk with Michonne, then helped pull the gate open. Sheeted cars filed into Alexandria. Tara and Scott exited the last, and gave Michonne three letters.

 _'We took the outpost bit by bit. We thought we'd one. We were gathered up in the open when they ambushed us. It was over in seconds. Ezekiel, Jerry and me. We are the only ones who made it back._

 _—Carol.'_

 _'We beat them. But things got complicated. Jesus took prisoners, brought them back home. We're holding them outside our gates for now until we decide what to do. Until I decide._

 _—Maggie.'_

 _'The plan is working. We're doing this. We're winning...The rest of the plan is still a go. We're moving on to the next step. I'm headed there now...We meet at the Sanctuary in two days to end this. To win it all. It's not like we haven't fought before. We fought every step of the way to this place. To this moment. The path has lead us here to who we are, to each other, to now. And we are so close. This can be our last fight._

 _—Rick.'_

* * *

 **Notes:**

Thanks to **temptedtorun** on twitter for your drawing of Oliver a few months ago. I only just saw it recently because I only recently got an account. But yeah, thanks so much. It's awesome. Bwt my account is notmuchmore2say

Dunno how anybody's gonna receive this one. Not much is happening in Alexandria rn so I needed a way to include them.

 _(Edit: Half a day later. I wrote 'both hands on the counter' and Oliver mentally slapped me for it so I changed it to 'arms' sorryfam)_

Happy reading.


	3. The King, the Widow & Rick, P2: Siddiq

**_Summary:_**

 _Making friends?_

* * *

 ** _A/N:_** _we finna just ignore that last episode  
_ _(lol im suffering)_

* * *

The boys slept very little that night. Neither had the same dilemma but both needed each other as an excuse to execute them. They were awake discussing a plan of action for hours until they were so exhausted they passed out in a heap on the couch. Still, they woke up early to leave without anybody catching them, which was made a lot simpler when they realised that nobody tried to stop them; not Michonne or Daryl or Tara or Rosita, who were all out somewhere, and not Rick, who was still out re-allying with the Junkies, and nobody like Scott or Barbra were going to argue, so Carl and Oliver simply took the eagle truck, made a lame excuse, and left.

By the time the burned suburb had faded out into long, tree-hooded, country roads, Oliver had developed a question in his head. Carl didn't look away from the road, but must've noticed, because he asked, "What's up?"

Oliver jumped a little.

He shrugged. "I don't know. E...Even if you find this Muslim guy, how do you know he's someone we can trust?"

Carl thought about this, squeezing both hands around the wheel.

"I gotta do what's right," he explained. "Made a promise."

Oliver knew the one, remembered it in Carl's own words from that night in the office blocks: _'You gotta do what's right, baby,'_ he recited in his head. _'Promise me you'll always do what's right. It's so easy to do the wrong thing in this world. So, if it feels wrong, don't do it. If it feels easy, don't do it. Don't let the world spoil you...'_

Under his breath, Oliver whispered, "You are so good..." but caught how the side of Carl's mouth lifted, like he might've heard, and moved on: "So, what's your plan?"

"My 'plan'?"

"You know, once you do find him— _if_ you find him. What are you gonna say?"

Carl's face went a little pale. "I, uh... I'll introduce myself. And I'll explain that I have food, water." His face looked very stiff as he turned the truck into a narrow layby to park. They were close to where they'd come yesterday morning, only now inside the forest nearby. "I'll... I'll tell him I want to help."

"What if he doesn't believe you?" Oliver asked.

Carl shrugged and switched off the engine. "He talked about his mom. He's the same as me—honouring his parents. Well, one of them." He'd said that part under his breath. "He'll understand."

Oliver felt a small bit of guilt at that, and perhaps jealousy. It was something he and Carl had never been able to relate over. Oliver never got to say goodbye to his parents. There were no promises or last words to honour or not honour. They were just rotting in graves with their youngest, unborn son, and their eldest, three states away, buried in a prison yard.

"You'll ask him the three questions?"

"'Course."

Oliver nodded his head, fidgeting.

"You know you're the biggest hypocrite I've ever met for this, right?" he pointed out. "This is beyond just being stubborn and reckless, even for you. This... This is..."

Carl waited. They both knew Rick would be furious. They'd discussed it last night; bringing back a stranger, _now,_ with everything going on? Not to mention what Oliver was out here for. It was more rebellious than they had ever been before, alone or together. Only it wasn't really rebellion—on the surface, maybe. But deeper in the roots of this was their independence. This was about making their own choices. This was about being their own person and taking responsibility for the fact that sometimes the grown-ups had it wrong.

Finally, Oliver sighed.

"I guess this is fine..."

As Carl got out and retrieved his backpack, Oliver prepared for his own mission: reaching the Kingdom with his radio, since the distance would be short enough now. It was no visiting the Hilltop, but it was something. He could maybe talk to Carol. He could find out if his friends were okay.

Carl helped set the radio up, perching it precariously on the middle compartment with a book under its side for balance. "Y'good?"

Oliver nodded. Carl hugged him. He smelled of damp and dirt and aftershave and Oliver pushed his nose in and inhaled.

"Be careful, man."

"Will," Carl said. "Back in a minute. _We_ will." And then he left.

The forest was busy and the wind was strong through the treetops, blowing harsh shadows across the hood of the truck. Oliver switched through channels. He picked up noise from what he had to guess was the Sanctuary. It sounded like Simon: _"Chem, come in. Come in. Chem. Come in!"_ and nothing was coming back except other Saviours saying they couldn't see anything either. _"We'll be fine. We just gotta wait for the fat lady to sing."_ This seemed like good news, more or less. It meant at least that they were still cut off from their other outposts. Oliver knew already from the letters that the big gun in the chemical plant hadn't been delivered, but whoever or whatever the fat lady was, sounded like a whole new thing to worry about. Not right now though. Right now, the fat lady could wait and Oliver had to focus on contacting his friends. But he had to be careful. He needed to contact the Kingdom without mistaking its channel for anybody else's. Ezekiel told him which it was, so he tried it, too anxious to talk into it yet, and instead simply mashed the PTT button for a few seconds, until finally he blurted, "Lani!" into the receiver.

He felt stupid. He put the receiver down and bit his mouth. Rick told them to stay put, to _not_ go chasing after Muslim boys or reaching out to any allies. Still, he wasn't hurting anybody. Worst that could happen now was the Sanctuary would know someone was listening in, but by now they had to know that, perhaps it could even be used as an alibi for Dwight if anybody got suspicious on him—then again, after what he did to Denise, Oliver wasn't sure he wanted to make Dwight an alibi anyway.

Finally, Oliver pressed the receiver again and said, "Hello? It's me." He waited ten seconds and tried again, hoping _someone_ at Kingdom would have a radio or walkie-talkie on, that it would still be on this channel. He almost gave up, until he heard the crackle.

 _"...Oliver?"_

He almost choked. "Hey... Hey! Oh my God. Err..." He forgot what he was doing. Hearing Henry for the first time in so long was over stimulating. "Hello. Hi. Yeah."

 _"You got back to us,"_ he said.

"Yeah. Sorry it took so long... I had to go away. I'm sorry. It's real good to hear you, man."

Henry was quiet for a bit.

Finally, he asked. _"Did you hear about what happened?"_

"...Yeah, I did." Oliver couldn't say anything else. His voice was hiding from him. Henry went away too. A part of Oliver hoped he wouldn't come back. He wished he would go get Lani. He wished he didn't have to ask any of the questions reeling around in his head, but he'd come out here for a reason, and it was too late to back out now. "Is Lani there?"

 _"...No... She... She was at the fight too."_

Oliver felt his veins dry up. He shut his eyes and felt a swell of pain and anger rise up in his throat. He didn't want to ask about Ray and his dad, or Leviathan and Dianne, or Esme and their mom, or Joey... _'It was over in seconds.'_

Oliver felt sick.

 _"Ben died, but that was before. I don't know if you know that."_

"I do," Oliver said, working hard to keep his voice still.

 _"Okay."_

Oliver wiped his face and kept his finger off the PTT button.

 _"The King doesn't want to be the king anymore."_

Henry didn't speak for a minute or two. Oliver either. Until finally, he pulled himself together and said, "I'm sorry, Henry. Do... Do you have anybody to talk to?"

 _"Carol's around, and Jerry, but, they don't seem all into talking, since... Um. Ms. Hale's teaching me ASL, so me and Juni can talk better. I like it. And I'm practicing Aikido now, but, Morgan hasn't come back yet, since he's at the Saviour's place keeping lookout, so I don't have anybody to teach me."_

Oliver didn't know what to say.

 _"I'm going to help kill them,"_ Henry told him, _"the people who killed my brother."_

"One day," Oliver said. "You're too little right now."

 _"I can look after myself,"_ Henry said.

"I know, man." Oliver had to cut off short because his voice was shaking.

 _"Are... Are you okay?"_

"Yeah. Yeah, listen, man. I have to go. I... I probably won't be able to get back to you again for a while. Range doesn't reach unless I drive out from home. Look after Carol for me, would you?"

 _"Yeah. I promise."_

"Okay. See you, Henry."

 _"See you."_ Then the radio went to static. Oliver switched it off and let out a long sigh that hurt, feeling that feeling like when he'd get his panic attacks. He wiped his face, put his hand flat to the dashboard, and tried to think clearly. Carl would be back soon. Oliver would have to explain what he'd learned, as well as deal with Carl's new friend. Oliver hated meeting new people at the best of times. He hated _losing_ people. And then he was getting out of the car, wishing he could pace or run or shout but he just ended up using his Axillary crutch to support him against the side of the eagle truck. Outside, with the dirt under his feet, he felt steadier and more grounded, and the gears in his mind loosened to a tolerable amount.

Then a faint buzzing noise began; Oliver thought he might have been hearing things. He looked up and twisted his head around, and there, emerging through the treeline, was a helicopter flying overhead.

It was low, like it would land sometime soon, or maybe it was just getting a good look at anything inside the forest. Oliver was afraid for a second that it was looking for _him_ , but it was gone before he could find a way to duck under anything, leaving him feeling small and spooked and like he'd been left out of something important. He wondered if he should follow it, and went to snatch for his crutch, but heard something else close by, on the ground, and turned around.

A walker.

Oliver backed up and climbed into the truck, shutting the door quickly. He waited, and the walker slammed itself into the vehicle and gnashed its teeth against the window. Oliver wound it down a crack, then stuck his knife through the walker's nose. Blood dribbled into the truck and the walker slouched against the glass, until Oliver yanked his knife out, and the body collapsed hard to the ground.

Oliver cleaned his knife on the sole of his shoe.

He saw something bloody pass through the wing-mirror, and pinned himself back to the seat, bracing himself. Leaves crunched under foot. Something bumped into the side of the truck. Oliver took out his gun when something took his door and pulled it wide open, and then—

"Whoa, whoa, it's me."

"Goddamn it, man. I almost shot you."

Carl had his hands up, eye wide. "Well could you not aim at my face. I'd like it if you at least left me _one_ eye."

Oliver holstered his gun and punched him. "Jesus, you're covered in shit." It wasn't shit. It was blood; a once grey flannel shirt now crimson and soaked. Oliver checked him over for any bites or scratches, but Carl pushed his hand away and told him to calm down. Oliver resolved to take Carl's face in his hand and ask, "You're okay?"

"We ran into some walkers," Carl said. _We._ Yeah. Crap. Oliver looked around the truck door and saw the stranger. Carl turned to look too. "Yeah, uh. This is Siddiq."

Siddiq raised a hand, passing back Oliver's Axillary crutch which he'd dropped outside. Siddiq was older than Oliver expected. In his early twenties, whereas Oliver had it in his head he might've been a little more than their age, like Noah maybe. Siddiq was slim and lanky, with short black hair, a long nose, and dark brown eyes. He looked dirty and hungry and cold.

"Hi," he said.

Oliver waved with his free arm, which was his amp arm, his eyes switching between both people in front of him.

"This is my boyfriend Oliver," Carl told Siddiq. He turned to Oliver. "He's cool. Swear."

Oliver nodded.

"What were his answers?" he asked.

"Two-hundred-and-thirty... uh..."

"Seven," Siddiq said. " _Two_ -hundred-and-thirty-seven of the dead."

Carl nodded gratefully. "Killed a person—put him down."

Satisfied, Oliver looked at Siddiq and smiled politely. "It's good to meet you."

"You too. You too. Both of you. Thank you. Thank you." It was strange for Oliver, being on the receiving end of this. He got awkward and sat back in the truck, pulling the door shut and setting his crutch next to him securely. Carl helped him put the radio back, and let Siddiq in the trunk.

"You guys look like you've been through it," Siddiq said while Carl was climbing into the driver's seat. "What happened?"

"It's a long story, man," Oliver said. He looked at Carl and inhaled. "I have to ask you to do something for me."

"What?" Carl said.

"We need to drive to the chemical outpost."

* * *

 **Notes:**

Fuck this show.

Happy reading.


	4. How It's Gotta Be, Part 1: Sore

**_Summary:_**

 _Nobody gets left behind._

* * *

 ** _A/N:_** _The first half's more in Carl's perspective, but a little more outside of his head given ... you know... 'what happened', then in the second half, we're back to Oliver's perspective. Hope it's less distracting now in third person._

* * *

"You're sure about this?"

"No."

Carl glanced at Oliver from the road.

"I mean, _yes,_ " Oliver corrected. "I'm sure. I just... I know I'm not going to like it."

"Then why are we doing this?"

"I have to," Oliver said, his eyes fixed forward on the road and his hand clamped tight against the edge of his seat. "I have to see it."

Carl drove almost half the morning. It was a good thing that the Junkyard was nowhere near, or they might've even ran into his dad on his way back. When they were close, Carl pulled over upon noticing a wrecked Jeep that'd rolled down a bank and caught fire. The smoke was still black.

"It's the machine gun," Oliver whispered.

Siddiq had been sitting in the back drinking some powdered milk. He was more or less up to speed now with everything going on between the communities, but he still looked anxious when he leaned forward to look over the seats.

"And you're sure they won't still be there, at this chemical plant?"

"Yeah," Carl reassured him. "Nobody left."

"I don't want to make trouble," Siddiq said. "Really."

"Don't worry," Carl told him. "I'm sorry about this. Oliver just needs to figure some stuff out. We'll be back home soon. Swear."

Oliver looked like he'd tried to give a grateful smile, but it looked more like a flinch. Carl handed Siddiq a pack of Cheetos, hoping it would help. It must've because he dipped them in his powdered milk; Carl had to look away, feeling queasy.

Soon, they were at the chemical plant, and even though they'd never been here, Carl and Oliver had still read enough plans and maps to know exactly how to get to the small farm and take its tractor trail out through the field right to the backdoor of the plant; it was the same way the King's regiment had taken, by the amount of trodden earth, and quickly, they saw that it was the same place the ambush had been. There was a tall, barbed, fence all around the plant, and part of it was broken, and before it, just like Carol had explained in her letter, a huge graveyard of armed Kingdom bodies were laid out in the open.

Oliver looked so pale Carl worried he'd throw up.

"Want me to go and look for them?" Carl asked.

Oliver's chin shook. "I don't want you to get hurt because of me."

Carl had to blink away the wet threatening his eyes. He swallowed dryly and looked out over the mess of blood and bodies. He shook his head. "No walkers anymore, but I'll look out for stragglers."

"I'll come with you," Siddiq said. Carl looked at him and nodded, then turned to Oliver, who didn't seem to have any objections.

"Keep the doors locked," Carl said, "honk if you see anything coming. Stay _in_ the truck. Okay?"

Oliver just nodded as the other two got out of the truck and made their slow and careful way across the pasture. Carl didn't focus very much on the bodies closest to the truck. He didn't recognise them, and could see already they'd been taken care of. There were arms and legs lying around in trails, and one soldier who had nothing but a chest and one thigh. It made Carl _glad_ the machine gun was destroyed, even gladder when he saw Mr. Dimka, Ray's father, whose skull was blown apart. His arm had been eaten on... by Ray, who was still trapped there under his father's body. They must've died trying to protect each other. Carl put Ray down, then got up quickly, taking a second to brace himself for how foul the next part was going to be.

Slow and careful, he and Siddiq sorted through the collection of bodies before the outpost's gate. They were all certainly dead, but some still needed to be put down. Carl found Joey next out of the people he recognised. His eyes were sunken and staring at the sky, and a whole part of his chest had been blown out. Then he recognised Esme's mom, and who must have been Esme by the similarities of their appearances. They got it done, which took a long time, until finally, Carl and Siddiq cleaned their knives and headed back towards the truck.

"They'd be grateful," Siddiq said, "you doing that for them."

"It wasn't for them..."

Carl was breathless and starting to sweat. He looked for Oliver's face in the truck and saw, through the sky's reflection on the windscreen, only his thick, black glasses staring back at him. Carl wondered if he knew—knew like sometimes Oliver just _knew_ things. Carl wanted to say something, or make some gesture that could comfort him. He wondered how he would tell him. He'd find out soon enough, that was a given, but maybe he should just do it now, get it done like ripping off a band-aid. Damn. He could split open with telling him, ooze with it right into the earth under his feet... but Siddiq veered off towards something that'd caught his attention, and Carl followed.

"Missed one," Siddiq said quietly. He knelt down beside a small huddle of bodies, pushing some aside. Carl saw the raised arm, the gasping mouth, and waited for Siddiq to put it down.

"Wait..."

Carl barely got the word out as he recognised her. _Her._ Lani. Exhausted and blood-coated and reaching out from the pile of dead Kingdommers.

"Grab her," Carl said. He was already knelt next to her, shoving bodies away and hoisting her up and under his arm. Siddiq helped, dragging her towards the truck. Lani stumbled along, looking up at the sky like she couldn't tell if it was real.

"Lani?" Oliver yelled out the window. "Oh my God!"

"Open the back!" Carl gasped, and saw Oliver disappear, then a moment later reappear, struggling to shove the doors open from the inside. Carl and Siddiq helped Lani in. She looked all frail and limp and covered in old blood. Oliver'd bashed his leg at some point while moving and gritted his teeth. He helped check her over for any bites or bullet wounds. She seemed okay, more exhausted and starved than anything. Carl got in, turned the truck around, and began driving for the road.

"Kingdom's closer," Oliver grunted.

"No," Carl snapped. "It's right next-door to the Sanctuary. The spotters'll think somethings wrong if they see us."

"So? I can radio Morgan and explain."

" _No,_ " Carl repeated. "The safest place is home."

"Are you sure?" Oliver asked.

Carl looked at him through the rear-view mirror. He looked and he looked and he wished he had the right words in his chest, but he didn't, so he just looked back at the road again and said, "We have to go home. It's safest. I can take care of you. I can take care of _all_ of you."

Oliver didn't argue after that.

* * *

Back home at Alexandria, Lani was recovering in the infirmary after a wash and some food and drink. Oliver hadn't seen much of Carl. He didn't wait at the infirmary. Didn't even stop to talk with Oliver about what to do next. He just dropped him and Lani off then drove off to hide Siddiq in the sewers—it was the best solution until all this was over. Nobody was back yet. Rick was still negotiating with the Junkies (which was taking too long—he'd said two days, maybe three, that he was expecting them to pull something, and that he was ready for it), and as well as that, nobody knew where Michonne, Tara, Daryl and Rosita were or what they were doing, so all the rest of Alexandria could do was keep themselves prepared.

In the infirmary, Tobin and a few others were recovering from any injuries they'd sustained at the Sanctuary. Scott, too, was there for a little while to keep an eye on everyone, but left to go bring supper for them all.

Lani hadn't spoken yet. Oliver stayed with her. She was in shock, he knew, with a concussion and some cuts and bruises, and must have gone almost two days without food or water. She likely only survived by hiding under the dead soldiers after the shooting. She seemed, at the very least, grateful that nobody was asking her any questions. Oliver did however tell her that she wasn't the only one who survived, that Jerry, Ezekiel and Carol did too, and were home now, but as much as this was good news it didn't make up for all the other's she'd watched die. She cried a lot, and seemed to even cry when she'd fall asleep for a few minutes, until she was so exhausted that she seemed to be out of crying altogether.

Carl arrived eventually.

"Hey!" Oliver said, embarrassed a little by how high and eager his voice sounded. "Err, haven't seen you much. How's things with... you know?"

"Fine," Carl said, rummaging through cupboards. He still hadn't changed his clothes. The blood was drier now, except some thicker soaks of it across his front. He saw Lani was asleep, and tried to be quieter. "How is she?"

"Exhausted," Oliver whispered, "but okay."

Carl nodded, pocketing things. He considered some antiseptic thoughtfully, but put it back. He let out a long breath and headed for the door.

"Hey, wait," Oliver said, "every... everything okay?"

Carl stood there with his bloodied-up flannel back to Oliver for a second, then turned to him. He was going to answer, but Scott came in the door. He went to Lani, bidding the boys a quiet hello as he wheeled Oliver out of the way and put a tray of soup, another glass of water, and some spare warm clothes on her bedside. Oliver took the opportunity to get out of Dick and hop on one foot over to Carl, who was again caught attempting to leave.

Oliver stumbled but Carl caught him by the arm. His hands were clammy. He had bags under his eyes and he was pale and sweating. Oliver wished Carl would take a minute to rest, to sit down—he probably hadn't even stood still since he got home. No wonder he looked so beat.

"I know this is a dumb question," he said, "especially now, but what do you want for your birthday?"

Carl stopped, blinking a little. "What?"

"It's still a month away, I know, but I just figured if you wanted anything specific I can focus on finding it now, you know?"

Carl looked around, something like a frown on his face, but sadder.

"I don't know, Oliver," he said, "we've got other stuff to worry about right now."

"I know that," Oliver said. "But I'm not thinking about 'right now'. I'm thinking about after. So, what's it gonna be? What do you want?"

Carl sighed. He shook his head. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he just said, "It doesn't matter," and left.

* * *

Later, when the sky was dark and Alexandria was glowing faintly from porch lights and lanterns, Oliver left to let Lani sleep. Scott wheeled him home, but allowed Oliver to walk by himself once he was up on the front porch, Axillary crutch under arm. It was lucky that his left hand was still strong because by now he was quite good at using his crutch; he could walk normally, so long as normally meant slowly—medium speed at a push. He could still out-walk a walker, at least.

Oliver made it to his room, half expecting Carl to be waiting for him, but the room was empty so he left for the kitchen, only to find Lani at the front door, shutting it behind her.

"Err, hi, Lani."

"Hey," she croaked back, stepping bare-foot across the room to take a seat at the kitchen island. She picked at a band-aid on her eyebrow and rubbed her arms warm (her armour had been washed and hung up to dry in the infirmary).

Oliver pointed at her face. "Never seen you without makeup."

She rolled her eyes.

Oliver shrugged. "Not a bad thing. Just a thing." To be honest, Oliver liked the way Lani looked with or without, but felt a bit demeaning admitting it. Still, without, Lani's brown skin wasn't just brown; she had acne, and dark, tear-drop, circles under her eyes, a pale, speckled birthmark on her cheek, and freckles everywhere, even on her neck and the backs of her hands. Even her natural, dark hair colour had grown out now to about three or so inches, like she'd dipped the other ten or so in gold.

"Your leg's broken," she pointed out, whispering it.

"Yeah." Oliver laughed. "I noticed."

"I already knew," she admitted. "It's just different, actually seeing it." Oliver heard that. He thought about how he felt hearing about the chemical plant ambush, how different it was to see it too.

Some kittens must've heard them, and came tumbling down the staircase to see what was going on, closely followed by their mother. Lani got up and collected them all, except the shy, white one. Oliver introduced them, and warned Lani not to touch Scab in case she lashed out. It was nice. Lani seemed to almost melt around Full Clip and Birds, and was even quiet enough that the unnamed, white kitten was almost tempted to greet her, but in the end was only brave enough to hide behind a stool leg. Scab was rubbing herself under Oliver's feet.

Just then, Scott burst in through the front door. He saw Lani and cursed. He put his hands on his hips, pointed at her, then pointed behind him to about where the infirmary was, until finally he shook his head, threw up his hands, and walked back out of the house.

Oliver snorted.

"I think you broke him," he said.

Lani laughed a tiny bit, but winced and touched her throat.

"Sore?" Oliver asked, stepping over.

She nodded. "A bit."

"Rest your voice, drink water—" At this Oliver hobbled across the kitchen and poured her some. "—and you'll be back to normal in no time."

"Will you?"

"More or less." Oliver shrugged and hopped up onto the counter, sideways so his cast leg could hang straight over the edge—Scab stood on her back legs to rub her face on his toes. "No doctors. I'll be rusty, but I'll be fine."

She smiled like she believed him, even though her eyes were wet. Oliver figured it was best not to mention that he'd contacted the Kingdom earlier. Anything he'd learned, she knew already, so instead he told her about everything else. He told her, "The plan's still working. The ones lost, haven't lost for nothing. We'll win this. I know it."

"That's... That's what I told Juni," she whispered. She shook her head. "He... He thinks I'm..."

"For now," Oliver said.

"He'll be so afraid," she said, barely squeaking it.

"We'll get you home soon."

Lani started to cry again after that. Oliver made his way around the table and put his free arm around her, kissing into the top of her head. She was heavy against him, sobbing hard, and he had to adjust his foot and crutch so he didn't fall, and then, after a while, Lani's breath became smoother and the kittens were purring on her lap and Oliver realised she was falling asleep.

"Hey, hey. Don't pass out in here," he said. "You can have my bed for tonight."

She looked apprehensive.

"I'm a cripple, Lani, not an asshole."

Smiling, she sniffed and shook her head. "It's okay. I'll go back to the infirmary. Could I just borrow a toothbrush, and maybe a hairbrush?" Oliver gave her both, and a hair tie, then waited while she went upstairs and got ready for bed. Once she was back, her hair was braided over her shoulder and she looked a little more comfortable.

"My ears are still ringing," she croaked. "Like I've got a dog whistle in my head or something."

"Yeah," Oliver said, trying not to look too sympathetic. "Think Carl told me Rick gets that. From his old job, around gunshots a lot. And when we lived back at the prison, he used to farm with headphones, but I think that was sometimes to keep out the sound of the walkers outside the fence too."

"Think that's the most you've ever told me about yourself," she said. "And it wasn't really even about you."

Oliver smiled guiltily.

"So, you lived in a prison?"

"Yeah. In Georgia, with my brother."

"You had a brother," she said.

"Two. But they died. One over a year ago, and the other I only found out I even had a few months ago."

She looked like she wanted to ask more, but became distracted and stuck her fingers in her ears again.

"It's worse in quiet," she said. "I don't know how Juni does it."

"Well he is deaf," Oliver pointed out. "And mute."

Lani rolled her eyes and rubbed her ears again.

"I got you," Oliver said, and went to grab his stereo. Lani followed him into his room.

"Are you sure?"

He gave her a look.

"Right, right," she said, "you're a cripple, not an asshole—got it." He let Lani choose through his CDs. After a long internal standoff between The Beatles and Etta Jones, she chose Etta; a personal idol of hers, or maybe she just had a sweet spot after she saw that movie with Beyoncé playing Etta's part.

"Thank you," she said. "Shoulda said it before, to Carl too. But yeah. Thanks."

Oliver just shrugged. Lani sighed, then headed for the door with her things. Once she was gone, Oliver stood there in the living room for a minute, his mind blank and quiet for once. And it stayed that way for a while. The world was quiet and calm and okay. But it didn't last. Nothing ever did. Three loud clashes sounded from the gate and Oliver De Luca's world returned to noise and darkness again. He knew the noise. Wood on metal. And he knew the next sound too, anticipated it like a bite from a walker.

"YOU MAY BE WONDERING WHY THE FUCK YOUR LOOKOUTS DIDN'T SOUND THE ALARM. SEE, WE ARE POLITE. I MEAN, I DON'T KNOW WHEN THEY'RE GONNA WAKE UP FROM THAT KIND OF SHOCK, BUT THEY SHOULD WAKE THE FUCK UP. SO, LETS JUST CUT THIS SHIT.

YOU LOSE.

IT'S OVER.

SO, YOU'RE GONNA LINE UP IN FRONT OF YOUR FUCKING HOUSES AND YOU'RE GONNA WORK UP SOME APOLOGIES. AND THEN, THE PERSON WITH THE LAMEST ONE, IS GONNA GET KILLED. THEN I KILL RICK IN FRONT OF EVERYBODY, AND WE MOVE ON.

YOU HAVE THREE MINUTES TO OPEN THIS GATE, OR WE START BOMBING THE FUCK OUT OF YOU."

* * *

 **Notes:**

Dampy boi told me he'd delete his Stale M&M's _BLasPHeMy_ fanfiction if I saved Lani so here ya go fuckers also lol Carl still hates powdered milk also damn if you saw the latest msf wow wild amirite?

Just a heads up, when it happens, it ain't gonna be sweet. It ain't gonna be romantic. It's gonna be awful. It's going to be disappointing and everyone will deserve better because I can't write anything that would actually do the characters justice. Just so we're all aware. Yep. Cool.

Happy reading.


	5. How It's Gotta Be, Part 2: To Happen

**_Summary:_**

 _All of Oliver's nightmares in about 3000 words I guess, but from Carl's perspective._

* * *

 ** _CW:_** _Gore and sad shit._

* * *

Negan was whistling into the stale night-sky while Carl got busy over by the trucks, stocking his bag full of smoke bombs. Some of the others were there, and Carl was telling them what to do:

"You need to make it look like we're escaping out back. Get to the woods, halfway to the quarry, and cut the lights. Get enough of a lead on them, hit them, and get away on foot. You know where we'll be. Just have to get the guns, get everyone else here, and we'll meet you there."

"TWO MINUTES, PEOPLE!" Negan yelled from the gate. "DIG DEEP. I WANT THESE APOLOGIES TO BE MEMORABLE. BONUS POINTS FOR CREATIVITY. WORK UP A POEM, SING A SONG. I FUCKING _LOVE_ THAT SHIT."

Carl caught his breath.

"Get going," he said. "There's gonna be people in the infirmary. They're gonna need your help." Tobin, Scott and Brian left quickly.

Negan went on whistling.

"Look, we got guns," Tara said. "We can fight them."

"We will, but not now," Rosita answered. "Carl's right."

"Carl," Michonne whispered, "we can't just let them have this place."

"We can," Carl insisted. "All you need to do is survive _tonight_. This is _my_ show. You said it. This is my plan, and you're gonna do it. You're all gonna do it. _So let's go!_ "

"ONE MINUTE!" Negan shouted. "ONE MINUTE!"

In seconds, Carl was running home, thundering up the steps, across the porch —he caught sight of Scab, who seemed to sense something was wrong, hiding her kittens under the decking— and when he burst in through the front door, Oliver was just standing there in the living room, like he was waiting for something to happen and not happen.

Carl collided with him like a battering ram. Oliver was knocked to the floor and Carl followed, landing in a painful heap. Carl was sweating and out of breath as he helped Oliver to his feet again. He didn't even let Oliver speak.

"Crap, you can't be here. Dammit. Oliver, you can't be here! There's no time. You need to get to the sewers. Can you get there on your own? Can you? Dammit— _dammit!_ Okay just stay here. _Stay right here._ Someone'll come and get you. I promise. I have to go to the gate. No time! Please, Oliver, I have to go." Carl hugged him long and hard and said, "I love you," and that's how he ruined it. He knew. By the look on Oliver's face as Carl pulled away, it was obvious.

But Carl had to go—"Wait... Carl, wait!"—and was out of the house, rounding the corner at the end of the street, and he knew Oliver couldn't follow him.

He wanted to find Scott or Tobin, to let them know Oliver was at home, but the infirmary was too far away and Carl needed to be at the ladder and he could already hear Negan counting down outside the wall.

" _Dammit!_ "

"OKIE DOKIE! BROUGHT THIS ON YOURSELF, RICK. Y'SEE I WAS WILLING TO WORK WITH YOU. ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS FOLLOW A FEW _VERY_ SIMPLE RULES.

NOW?

NOW I SEE THAT YOU HAVE GOT TO FUCKING _GO_. SCORCHED FUCKING _EARTH,_ YOU FUCKING _DICK!_ "

"He's not home," Carl called out, breathless atop the guard post. He saw Negan and the Saviors in front of the gate, armed and snapping their gazes up to him.

"OH! _HO!_ HOLY _FUCK_!" Negan grinned, one hand gripped around Lucille, the other around a mic. "EVERYBODY, HOLD YOUR FIRE, IT'S CARL.

LOOK AT YOU. ANSWERING THE DOOR LIKE A _BIG_ BOY.

I AM SO PROUD.

DADDY'S NOT HOME, HUH? WELL I GUESS HE'S GONNA GET BACK TO A BIG OL' SMOKEY SURPRISE."

"There's families in here," Carl told them. "Kids. _My little sister._ "

"WELL THAT SHIT JUST BREAKS MY FUCKING HEART," Negan replied. "THERE'S KIDS AT THE SANCTUARY, TOO. YOU MUSTA SEEN'EM. WE EVEN HAD A LITTLE BABY IN ONE OF THE OUTPOSTS. I WONDER WHAT HAPPENED TO HER..."

He stepped forward, dropping his mic to his side—speaking just to Carl now.

"None of this shit's fair, kid. Hell, you know that. You had to kill your own mom. That is fucked up.

Aergo, we need someone in charge who's willing to do whatever it takes to make sure that shit doesn't fucking happen.

Oh. Wait.

That's me!"

Carl shook his head.

"Bad stuff does happen," he admitted, "but we can figure this out. We can stop this."

"Oh, _now_ you wanna talk?!" Negan shouted. "See, your dad had it that I died no matter what. He gave my people a choice. Not me. Now we're gonna need a new understanding. Apologies, punish—"

" _Kill me._ "

The sentence came out in tandem. Carl was so overpowered by his own words that it took him a second to realise they had rendered Negan speechless as well.

He stepped forward.

His grin went away.

He asked, "What did you say?"

And Carl said, "If you have to kill someone, if there has to be punishment, then kill me... _I'm serious._ "

Negan's smile returned, but it was stale, and it didn't last until the end of his next sentence. "You wanna die?"

"No," Carl said, "I don't. But I will... It's gonna happen. And if...if me dying could stop this—if it can make things different, for us, for you, for all those other kids, it'd be worth it."

He took a breath. The image below of Negan _actually_ listening to him was so ridiculous and unexpected and cruel, _perverted_ almost, that somehow, Carl felt a laugh huff through his mouth.

"I mean, was this the plan?" he asked, the swell of amusement now festering into something heavy and miserable in his throat. "Was it _supposed_ to be this way? Is this who you wanted to be?"

Again, Negan looked up at him like he didn't know what to say. He inhaled. He gritted his teeth. And Carl didn't know what the look on his face was supposed to mean. Perhaps he would have found out. Perhaps Negan was going to change his mind. But Carl never found out, because then, behind him in Alexandria, engines revved and tires screeched and several garbage trucks and cars crashed through the east wall and drove away, and although Carl couldn't see from here, he knew the decoy was beginning.

He took his chance while Negan and the others were distracted, ducking behind the wall and crawling towards the ladder.

"Son of a bitch, Carl!" Negan roared. "Was that just a play?! I thought we were having a moment, you fucking asshole! _Bombs away!_ "

Carl heard guns cock as he descended. He heard the strange _thonk!_ ing noises...and then a building across from him exploded. Carl lost purchase on the step. He felt himself tumble and fall and as he hit the ground, something in his left foot crunched and pain shot up through his ankle. He hissed and groaned and felt his face twist up. Then a car behind him blew up too. Carl gasped. He got up, snatching his bag and hat, and as he made his way for the sewers, limping, he set off smoke bombs in his wake to hide himself. He had to hope someone got Oliver out of the house, to the sewers, and as he got close he saw other Alexandrians rushing to take shelter through the grid.

Lani was there, helping people in. When she saw Carl she began waving. "Over here!" Carl stopped in front of her, gasping. A building blew up behind them. Another. The gate was being torn down.

"Is this everyone?"

"Yeah. Should be. I think... wait. Tobin, where's Oliver?"

"He came with you. From the infirmary."

"No. We weren't together."

"When did you last see him?" he asked her.

Carl bent down into the sewer grid and screamed, "Oliver?! You in there?!" And it took a few minutes of asking around until people's whispers came back saying—"Oliver?" "No. He's not down here." "Oh, my." "We thought your street was empty." "Oh, shit, kid."

Carl felt his stomach sink. His head was pounding. Incensed, he punched the cement and cursed, then got up, his body vibrating, and left as quickly as he could. "I'll be back. Get everybody safe."

Lani followed.

"Go back!" he told her.

"No way! Look at you."

"Go b—" Ahead of him, the church exploded and he staggered back. His ankle went dead and he fell to his knees. Lani told the others to keep working, then rushed over and took under his arm.

"Come on, I can help." She was shorter than him, but strong enough to take most of his weight.

They got going. Carl could hear Saviors looking for them and set off another smoke bomb. They kept walking, close to the infirmary now. Carl could hear music coming from inside.

 _She's leavin' and hopes are feeling so low  
They're grievin' and they're consolin' poor Joe  
Gonna miss her charm  
Gonna miss her smile  
She'll be travellin' alone down that last long mile_...

Houses surrounding them were rubble and flame. Smoke was filling the streets. Without warning, Lani yanked him to the side and the porch to their left exploded.

"Sorry. Here," Lani said, almost dragging him to the next street towards a parked car. "Your leg. Shit. I didn't mean to push you. I had to get you away from the grenade."

Carl was in so much pain. He couldn't find the breath and words to thank her. He leant against the car bonnet and caught his breath for a moment, then pushed himself off and took a few steps. He managed a small, hoarse, "C'mon," as he limped towards home, "we have to—"

He didn't finish his sentence. He hardly had a moment to turn and look. But he heard it, the small smack and ring as something hard landed on the road and rolled under the car... and then it and Lani burst into flames.

* * *

Carl didn't remember being thrown back, or blacking out, but he must've, because when he opened his eyes and lifted his head, he felt heavy and weak. He couldn't see Lani well. There was so much fire. Eating her up. The whole world, burning white and red. And Lani was right in the middle of it, small and charred and Carl didn't blink or look away he just _saw_.

He got up, dazed. He might've been crying. His face felt hot and wet. His body felt hot and wet. Was he on fire, too? It was hard to tell. It was hard to think. He felt ill. He felt like he was dying.

He staggered towards home, tripping up the steps and throwing up as he made it to the door. He wiped his face. He went inside. It was dark and quiet, and Carl felt afraid. He drew his gun.

"Oliver?" His voice felt weak and throaty. "Oliver..."

He didn't so much see the figure but _feel_ it, and before he could react he was feeling something worse—something hard and heavy striking his arms and chest. Carl hit the floor, gun clattering out of reach.

He saw Negan standing over him, closing in. Carl clambered for his gun. It was kicked away, and a gloved hand seized his shoulder.

"This shit isn't funny anymore," Negan said, his weight slouching over Carl's back as he took his hunting knife, carving knife, and even his hat; all tossed to the side. Negan let up, allowing Carl to face him. "Don't make me do this now, kid. Haven't you figured it out yet? I got plans for you. Big plans. But right now, more importantly, I got _questions..._ "

Carl staggered to his feet, heaving his breath.

"Why would you volunteer to die?" Negan asked. "What fucked you up so bad you'd choose that?"

Carl swallowed. "I'm—"

"You know what," Negan cut him off, "I blame your dad. Bet you do, too, huh? Ah, don't worry. Told you before and I'll tell you again: I like you. I really fucking do. Yeah. Few years from now, you're gonna be one of my top guys!"

Carl rushed forward and shoved, hoping to catch Negan by surprise, but he was pushed aside like a small dog, landing in a messy lump before the coffee table, hunched and clutching his stomach. He gagged and choked and spit-up more vomit.

"Jesus, kid. Look at you," Negan complained. "You're weak. Your father's raising a weak boy! But I'll fix you. I'll even keep your boyfriend around for you, if he follows the rules. If not... well..." Negan whistled. "I'll make _you_ kill him myself. That'll break you, put you in line, huh?"

"Stop talking!"

"Keep dreaming."

With a roar, Carl snatched the hourglass paperweight and swung around at Negan's face, connecting to cheek-bone. Negan tripped back and Carl snatched Lucille right out of his hands, like it was easy.

"Don't you touch her—"

Carl hit Negan as hard as he could, barbs and wood crashing against his shoulder, tearing his leather jacket and sending Negan reeling back into the chairs around the table. Carl was going to do it again, but Negan's foot connected with Carl's face, knocking him back into the coffee table. Carl lost the wind in his lungs. His mouth bled. He could barely lift his own head, but was able to glance up at Negan standing over him, Lucille in hand, and then—

A ukulele shattered across the back of Negan's skull.

Negan crashed to the floor, limp and immense and out cold, and Oliver stood there, looking wild. He dropped the neck of his instrument and it landed before him with a _brang!_ and clatter.

"I was hiding..." he muttered, hobbling to pick up Carl's hat. "Heard him come in... talking about... spaghetti."

Carl made some small noise and Oliver seemed to snap inside his own head again. He hurried to Carl's side and helped him up as best he could.

They stood over Negan for a moment, not sure what to do. Carl looked at Oliver, who was glaring down at Negan, his face hard and still.

"We should go," Carl painted, taking Oliver's wrist, "before they find us."

"We should kill him," Oliver mumbled.

" _No_ , we have to go."

Negan was beginning to rouse. " _Unngh... fuck."_

Oliver kicked him in the face, knocking him out again. Carl yanked him back, yelling, but fell when his ankle gave in.

"Come on. Please. Just _leave_ him!"

Oliver relented and helped Carl across the living room. Carl picked up all his strength, hot and sweating and trying not to cling as they got out of the house and crossed the community. They were almost at the grid, but some Saviors began chasing them and they had to stop.

Carl pulled Oliver behind him, taking out another smoke bomb.

"On the ground, kid!"

The street filled with fog and fizzling and Carl and Oliver disappeared inside of it. Oliver went down into the sewer first, gripping hard to Carl as he did. Once on his feet, Carl passed down the crutch, hurried in, and shut the grid.

"Shh, shh..." Oliver said. Carl watched the two Saviors rush past above them, and then the boys were alone.

Carl climbed down, staggering on the last step. He got up. Oliver let him pass over his crutch, even his beanie, but he didn't let him walk away because Carl felt a tug on his sleeve.

"Oliver... please, we're almost there."

Oliver didn't budge. Carl kept his back to him, his head down, eyes shut, stretching and stretching time until...

"I know," Oliver said.

Carl didn't say anything.

" _I know,_ " Oliver said again. He waited a long time after saying it, until finally— _finally_ —he said, "I know... _you're bit._ "

Carl inhaled. He turned. He saw Oliver shudder and drop his crutch. It hit the grey-water with a clatter and a splash.

"Oliver..."

"Ever since we got back," he whispered. "All day, you... you've been _avoiding_ me."

Carl just looked at him, wishing beyond wishing he could pause time forever.

"Show me," Oliver said, rushing on and on. "Show—"

"Please."

" _Show it to me!_ "

Oliver glared Carl down until Carl couldn't look him in the face anymore. He looked at the sewer floor. He sucked on his lip. Then he lifted his shirt and pulled back the bandage on his stomach.

The bite was shallow, barely a scratch. The look on Oliver's face was like he'd been insulted. Carl felt himself saying, "I'm sorry," a lot. "I'm sorry. I... I'm sorry," and Oliver didn't seem to know what to do. He didn't seem inside his own head. He just kept on watching. Like he was waiting for this to stop and go away.

Carl knew he couldn't start crying, not in front of Oliver, not in front of anyone. He turned away to wipe his face, and when he turned back, he inhaled steeply and touched Oliver's shoulder. "C'mon—"

Oliver shook him off.

Oliver gripped his hair in his hand.

"Please." Carl touched Oliver's chest this time. "Please, Oliver, you can't—"

But again, Oliver shoved him away, stumbling back and tripping over. And then Oliver just knelt there, staring into the space between them. Carl scowled at him. He'd spent all day trying to ignore it. Pretending it was far away. But now he felt it. All at once. All the fear and the loss and the anger. He wanted to yell at him. He wanted to lash out. He wanted so many different things to happen and not happen instead of this, but this was happening, and Carl doubled over into the sewer wall and threw up.

"Please, Oliver..." he sobbed. "I'm not strong enough on my own."

Oliver looked at him, eyes big with horror. But he seemed to be listening because he got up. Carl got up, too, refusing Oliver's help. He felt dizzy. He stepped over to the wall and caught his balance.

Very quietly, Oliver asked, "Are you okay?" And Carl shook his head, swallowing. Oliver bit his mouth, like he'd expected a different answer. He stepped over. He used his sleeve to wipe Carl's face. He brushed back his hair with his fingers. Carl couldn't look at him.

"Come on," Oliver whispered, eyes full, "you've got a show to run."

Carl sobbed, but picked up his head and nodded.

"Thank you," he said.

Oliver wiped his own face on his shoulder and retrieved his crutch from the mucky sewer floor. As they turned, they heard something coming and drew their guns.

Daryl rounded the corner, crossbow drawn, his old vest back on his shoulders. He grunted.

"Hey..."

"You two okay?"

They didn't nod. Carl shuffled his feet and swallowed.

"No," he answered, voice cracking. "I'm bit."

Carl watched Daryl's face turn soft, like someone had pulled the fur back on a big hairy dog. He looked Carl up and down for a while, biting his mouth tight into a line.

"When it happen?" he asked finally.

"This morning."

"Oliver?"

"He's okay. He's..." Carl looked at him. He had to start over. "He's going to be okay."

Daryl and Carl just looked at each other then, some big amount of _feeling_ blocking up the whole sewer.

Carl said, "There's still time."

"Yeah there is," Daryl said back, and seemed to grow to normal size again. "C'mon." He chucked his chin, lugged Oliver together under his arm, and the boys followed his lead deep into the sewer.

All of Alexandria was already there, except Carl's parents. Daryl took them to the edge of the group, towards the end of the sewer hallway where they decided to sit. It felt like the second Carl did sit, however, that his fever took hold of him, digging deep into his bones.

News spread quickly, and he was polite enough to listen to the few words of condolence across the sewer. He found it kind of ironic, if anything. He made jokes that Oliver didn't have to fight over flannel shirts anymore, that he could get away with hoarding all the books he wanted from now on, that he could even have his Stetson hat, if he wanted it. Oliver tried to laugh, but mostly he just did that thing that looked like something between smiling and dying inside, and eventually Carl gave up trying to cheer him up. He was too exhausted. Every minute that passed, he knew he was getting weaker, and that Oliver was seeing that happen. But he was glad that the end of the sewer gave him some privacy, at least. He didn't have to preform too much. He was allowed to let his guard down, to feel himself slip into long, drowsy quiets for enough time to start feeling a little less, _and a little less..._ until Oliver would squeeze his fingers, all choked up, and ask him not to sleep yet.

At some point, Carl's father and Michonne returned. His dad didn't notice them at the end of the sewers at first. His mind seemed busy noticing everything else, like the fact that Dwight was among them now, and why some others weren't. He stopped longest on Siddiq, however. Carl was glad. He was stretching the moments out again, like before, like time was an elastic band and the longer it stretched the longer it wasn't real, until finally...

"I brought him here," Carl whispered.

Slowly, Rick turned from Siddiq.

"That's how it happened."

And then it was real.

* * *

 **Notes:**

Song was _The Gal from Joe's_ by Etta Jones. And there was a season 2 throwback from when Shane told Rick he was raising a weak boy.

Least he ain't dead yet, folks.

In all seriousness though, Carl's a great character, and he did good.

 _(I honestly don't know if I need to say this or not, but...)_ Basically, I know I'm going to lose a lot of readers soon. That's chill. Those of you who were here for the romance (which, in all 138 chapters so far, has featured in less than a third of them, sorry) will probably go, so yeah, it's been fun, thanks, and for those of you who might stick around a bit longer to see what happens next, however few, it means a lot, more than I can really express. I like writing Oliver, so I'm just going to keep going.

Do with that information what you will.

And if there are any questions, asks are open on Tumblr :)  
my blog: **_notmuchmoretosay_** (it used to be just for stale M&M's but now it's just memes and dumb shit so you gotta search oliver and whatever else in the tags)

Happy reading.


	6. Honor: The One Where He Dies

**_Summary:_**

 _See title lol_

* * *

 ** _CW:_** _again, see title._

* * *

 ** _FAQs (some a little overdue):_**

 _1\. Will you save Coral? **lol no**_

 _2\. Will you end this after Carl dies? **my brain won't let me yet**_

 _3\. What's gonna happen now? Where will you take/What will you do with Oliver after this? **a lot; hoping he can take over some of carl's plot lines, unless somebody else in the show does, or I just want to change something. I loved the negan cell arc, but disliked the lydia one—she's a little too damsel in distress for me, so if she comes in, she'll have some change-ups.**_

 _4\. Tf is up with you and Weird Al? **it's not me it's literally Carl's cannon favourite music for some reason okay?**_

* * *

 ** _A/N:_** _Sorry for the slow updates. I started writing a book, hoping to get the manuscript finished before 2019 (at 21,000 words of 100,000 so far). Along with that, also slowly getting through my uni work, so I have to pace myself—writing Stale M &M's is still like my reward for doing stuff I have to prioritise first, so it's always the one I'm making the least progress on. Anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter, despite the subject matter. Feel free to ask any questions, here or on tumblr (notmuchmoretosay) or Twitter (notmuchmore2say) or even Instagram (gaellikestoswim)._

* * *

"I got bit."

Despite Carl saying it, Rick didn't seem to understand him. He kept shaking his head and saying things like, "I don't..." "How..." "No, this isn't..." "This is them." "They—They don't..." "It wasn't..."

And Carl just said, "Dad. It's alright. I got bit."

He pulled out some folded pieces of paper.

"I wasn't sure you'd make it back before, but, just in case. I wanted to make sure I was able to say goodbye."

He handed them to Michonne. Her face was wet and dripping.

Rick said, "No."

"Dad," Carl whispered. "I got bit."

It seemed to sink in that time.

"I was bringing someone back," Carl went on. "His name's Siddiq. We saw him at that gas station before. It wasn't the Saviors. It just happened. I got bit."

Oliver hadn't moved from his side. He hadn't spoken. It was becoming very difficult to follow the conversations going on around him. At some point, Siddiq offered the stretcher he was sitting on, and Rick and Michonne helped Carl onto it. He was hurting a lot, and the colour that had left his face before was now growing grey and purple around his eyes.

Siddiq offered medicine for the fever.

"It helped for my mom and dad," he said. "Please take them? Your son. He should have them."

Rick did.

"You're a doctor?"

"Yeah."

"Your name's Siddiq."

"Yes."

Rick turned to Carl. "Did you know he was a doctor? Is that why you brought him back?"

"He wasn't going to make it alone," Carl replied. "He needed us." He took a breath. It wheezed. "That's why."

Rick nodded and glanced at Oliver, then Carl. He said something but another explosion went off outside. The sewers shuddered. Parts of the ceiling began to crumble in. Rick dove forward and protected Carl's face. The dust made him cough and choke.

"Water," Michonne said, "give him water."

Oliver had some next to him but didn't notice it until she snatched it and handed it to Rick.

"Slowly... slowly..." Carl swallowed and gasped for breath, his throat rattling. Oliver flinched.

Michonne looked ragged and out of breath. She nodded at Oliver, as if to make sure he knew she wasn't angry at him. He looked away from her. She got up and walked away, straight for Dwight, who she seized by the collar and pushed against the wall.

"Make it stop!" she ordered. "Make them stop!"

"I can't..."

She winced. "You can. You're one of them, they'll listen to you... _please._ " Another explosion went off. "Please."

Rosita took Michonne's shoulder and that seemed to be enough. They spoke to Dwight about Hilltop, about getting everybody there, but Dwight explained that the Saviors were still out there looking in the woods.

"They saw us go west," Tara said. "So we won't go west."

"Your best chance is to stay here until they're gone," Dwight insisted.

"No," Daryl said. "They find us here, we're dead."

"They're almost gone," Dwight said. "They gotta be. It wasn't about destroying this place. They don't have the ammo for that. _After_ they let up. _After_ they're gone. _That's_ when we go."

They agreed, and Michonne returned. She sat by Carl's side and stroked his cheek with her fingertips, and he just looked up at her, frowning a little.

"You left," he whispered. "You were supposed to be resting."

"I'm not tired."

"Yeah." He smiled. "You look great."

Michonne almost laughed, and as they talked, they cried, and then Judith was crying and Oliver realised he was outside, alone. He wasn't sure how much time had passed. The sun was up now, blocked by the smoke still burning from Alexandria into the early morning sky. Oliver thought he remembered Daryl at some point in the night, carrying Judith away, telling others to let Oliver be, so they did and now he was knelt here in the ash.

He rubbed his face dry, afraid that he'd been left alone, again, like that day at the candy store, or at the suburb. His breath felt heavy and thick. He was afraid Carl was already gone, and he'd run out of time — but then he heard his voice, calling out to him.

"Is Oliver up there... is he?"

"Yeah, yeah, I see him."

Oliver turned to the sewer grid. It was open and Michonne was climbing out of it.

"You got him?" Rick asked from underground.

"Yeah. You push, I'll pull. One, two, three!"

Michonne pulled Carl out of the sewer in one, hard, smooth wrench. Carl collapsed into her, but once he caught sight of Oliver he reached out for him. Oliver stared, his mouth dry. He was in too much pain and shock to get up and take his hand, so Carl withdrew his own.

"Here," Rick said, above ground now as he took under Carl's arm.

"No," Carl said, "get him. He can't walk."

Rick did as he was told, taking under Oliver's arm. Michonne helped Carl across Alexandria, Rick and Oliver following. Oliver could hear the noises Carl was making; the mumbling and moaning and asking Michonne to slow down.

"No," Rick grunted, "there's our house up ahead."

"I can't," Carl whispered. "I can't."

Michonne stopped. Rick dragged himself and Oliver around to face them. The exchange between the four of them was awful, but it was silent, at least, and was over quickly. They went to the church instead. It was closer. Near the alter, with the colourful glass windows behind them, now shattered and stained with soot, Rick set Oliver down on the floor and helped Michonne lay Carl down beside him.

Carl was out of breath, wincing. He turned to his father.

"Thanks for..." he swallowed, "for getting me here."

"Well," Rick said, "I'm sorry, I just—I didn't want you out there."

"No," Carl said. "No, for getting me _here._ For... For making me so I can be..." He looked at Oliver, then back at his father. "...who I wound up."

Rick was shaking.

"Back at the prison," Carl explained, shutting his eyes for a moment to swallow again, "when we got attacked, there was a kid. A little older than me. He had a gun. He was... He was starting to put it down, and I—I sh—I shot him. He was giving it up and I... I just shot him."

Again, he looked at Oliver.

"I think about him, what I did to him and how... how _easy_ it was to just kill him."

Rick leaned forward. "No, no. What happened. What you've _lost._ All those things you had to... All those things you had to do. You were just a boy."

"And you saw it," Carl said. "What it did. How... How easy it got. That's why you changed. You brought those people from Woodbury and... we all lived together. We were enemies. But you put away your gun. You did it, so I could change — so... I could be who I am now.

What you did. How you stopped fighting. It was right.

It still is.

It can be like that again. _You_ can still be like that again."

Rick dipped his head.

"I can't be who I was," he said. "It's different now."

"You can't kill all of them, Dad. There's gotta be something after, for you, for them. There's gotta be something after. I know you can't see it yet— how it could be. But I have... You have a beard. It's... bigger, greyer. Michonne's happy. Judith is older... and Oliver? You're showing her the songs we listen to together."

He took a steep breath.

"Alexandria's bigger," he said. "There's... new houses, crops, and people working, everybody living, helping everybody else live. You can still be who you were. That's how it could be. It could."

"Carl... it was all for you, right from the start. Back in Atlanta. The farm. Everything I did, it was for you. And then at the prison it was for you and Judith. It still is. It's gonna be. And nothing, _nothing,_ is gonna change that."

"I want this for you, Dad."

"I will make it real. Carl, I promise. I'll make it real." Carl nodded. His father took his hand and kissed it. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. A father's job is to protect his son."

Carl shook his head. "No. It's just to love."

Carl closed his eyes and reached down to his holster.

He took hold of his gun.

"No," Rick moaned. "No."

Oliver stared.

"Carl, no," Michonne said, "it—it should be—"

"I know," Carl whispered. " _I know._ Somebody who loves them. But you can't do it yourself, and I still can. I grew up. I have to do this. _Me._ "

He held his breath.

He said to her, "I love you."

Michonne broke up crying. "I love you, too."

Carl blinked away tears and turned his head to Rick. "I love you, Dad."

"I love you, Carl. I love you so much." Rick leaned down, tears rolling, and kissed his forehead. "I'll make it real. I will."

After that, Carl asked them to wait outside the church. Michonne took Rick's hand, and as she bent down to help Oliver, too, Carl whispered, "No, no. He can stay... if that's okay?"

Oliver shut his eyes and nodded.

He felt Carl touch the back of his hand, gently, waiting for him to choose to take it and Oliver did. It felt cold and he held it tightly, and as he sat there beside him, the world didn't feel real.

"I..." He cleared his throat. He looked at the floor. "I don't know what to say."

Carl just shook his head. "Then don't — don't say anything. It was never your strong suit anyway."

Oliver tried to prove him wrong, but his throat closed up and the tears came too fast for him to wipe away. Carl watched him until he calmed down, and when he spoke, his weak voice was all shaken up and broken.

"It's okay," he whispered. "I know everything you want to say to me, even... even if you don't know yet. If you mean it... I know."

Oliver felt helpless.

"I'm sorry about Lani," Carl told him. "There was nothing I could do."

Oliver couldn't meet his eyes.

"Hey," Carl whispered, "there was nothing you could have done either. Not for her. Not for me. It happened. It all... _happened._ And... I'm sorry for avoiding you, after. I knew you would have noticed sooner. I just wanted it to be a good day."

He was so competitive, even now in this, looking up at Oliver in his subtle, smug way, like he was still winning.

"I had a good day, Oliver," he said. "I had a really good day."

Oliver was glad, and amazed. He held his breath. Carl squeezed his hand, gently, then lifted it to his mouth and kissed it.

He shut his eyes.

"I am going to miss so much of you."

Hearing Carl tell him that made Oliver's chest collapse in on itself, as if the sky had crashed down on top of them. Oliver didn't know the feeling, but he almost couldn't stand it. He pushed his face into Carl's shirt, and Carl held him, and they cried together, both their sobs wracking them like thunderstorms passing between chests.

"Could you..." Carl blinked away his tears, looking somewhat embarrassed, or even ashamed. "Could you look away, when it happens? Could you?" Suddenly, his shame turned to fear, flashing in his face and voice, but he buried it quickly. "I — I don't want you to see me like that."

Oliver nodded and nodded and nodded.

"I love you," he gasped out. He begged it. "I love you, man."

"I know..." Carl shut his eyes, then looked up at him, tears spilling. "I love you, too, Oliver. I love you, too, _so much._ "

Oliver held him again, until eventually, Carl asked him to lean up. He raised his Beretta. He had to use both hands; they were shaking and Oliver had to keep them steady for him.

Carl watched him, and then he stared up through the burned-out roof, up up up to the sky. He took a deep breath. And then, very calmly, he whispered, "Goodnight, love," and with one, small shudder, like he might've thought of one last thing to say, he pulled the trigger.

A shatter in time.

A fracture in space.

And Oliver never un-felt it.

* * *

 _You mistrusted what will bleed  
Will not die, will not leave  
The heart was first in that line  
Though it was under those conditions  
We were free  
Under those conditions  
Of pain that would not leave  
You were all I've ever trusted  
You're self-made  
You made it on hard work and risk  
How will I live on without you?  
And I can tell by that look  
You were thinking the same thing, too  
If this can't last, just what can last?  
Then it's lights out after this kiss  
Then time can't torment us  
This will have to serve  
Goodnight, lover  
Wherever you are..._

* * *

 **Notes:**

Song was Goodnight Lover by Ohia, but in this it's more like a poem I guess, but I also guess that's kind of all a song is. Eh. Also took a little inspiration from the comics from when Andrea died.

Some shit before you go.

Basically I've been writing this for 4 years, which means a lot of people have come and go throughout. Most of you never leave anything but a number on a statistic, which I still appreciate, but some of you leave a comment, or a PM, and through that some of you became my friends. I'll get a message a month, or one every few days, or from a small handful of you, hundreds a day, and there are some of you who I don't speak to at all anymore. And that's okay. I just wanted you to know that whether it was or is zero messages or a thousand, I've grown up with you, so yeah, just wanted to say thanks for that, even if you don't think I mean it.

Happy reading.


	7. The Lost and the Plunderers: Failed

**_Summary:_**

 _After._

* * *

Oliver knelt there, alone. His ears were ringing; not from the sound of the bullet, it had been silenced, but from the horror. He knew the feeling. The feeling when someone dies in your presence. How they were there and then they just... weren't. Still, it got him every time. His hand was wet and splattered and shaking. He didn't let go of the gun, or the cold, heavy fingers under his own, slipping, so he held them a little tighter as not to let them drop... but he did glance down.

 _Oh.._

He shut his eyes quickly.

 _Ohh..._

Someone came in. Oliver didn't turn or look or move or breathe, even when he heard the growling stumbling up the church steps inside — heard it and heard something else split it open, and there was sobbing, and _moaning_. His own? No. Rick's. And then someone was holding his face.

"Look at me," Michonne whispered, "hey, look at me, Oliver."

He did. She kept his face still.

"Just look at me."

 _Okay... okay... okay._

She seemed to find it hard not to look at Carl's body beside him, tears streaking down her winced up laugh-lines. She wiped Oliver's face and blood came away on her fingers. She took off her headband and used it for his hand. Rick was doing something, still moaning — Oliver saw him stumble off somewhere across the church, into another room, and then he came back with a white sheet folded up in his arms.

"Here," he sobbed, "for... for my... my boy."

"Yeah," she whimpered. "Let me help you."

 _Okay... okay._

After Carl's body was covered, Oliver was allowed to look again, and sometime later, he was outside surrounded by burning skies and buildings, sitting in the graveyard. He had a corner of the blooded sheet between his fingers, playing with it. Rick and Michonne were digging, and then they were crying, and then they were filling, and Oliver was watching the clouds and smoke, picking dirt out from under his fingernails. The grass was wet, soaking his clothes and cast.

Sometime later Rick came back from somewhere. Oliver hadn't even noticed he'd left, or that he'd been alone at the grave.

"Come on," Rick was saying to him, "gotta get you in the truck. It's not safe here."

Oliver wondered where Michonne was but was already in the back of the truck alone before he thought to ask. He was missing time, skipping from one moment to several moments later, losing bits in between because now there was a walkie-talkie in his hand and there were walkers outside the back windows.

The gazebo was burning.

Rick and Michonne were there then, stuffing duffel bags in around Oliver's legs. "Hey... Oliver?" Michonne said — he barely heard her, but she must've figured out what he was looking at because in this horrible, sad whisper, she said, "He used to sit on the roof."

"We have to go," Rick said.

Michonne snatched a fire-hydrant from the truck and ran for the gazebo. Rick cursed, grabbed another hydrant and shut the truck doors. Oliver was in too much pain to sit up and look through the windows, so he just listened to the foaming and the growling and the flames.

"Leave it, Michonne! It's gone. _Michonne!_ "

They came back, and they drove away, and Alexandria Safe Zone was lost to the dead and the gone.

* * *

Oliver kept catching Rick glancing at him through the rear-view mirror. He would be wiping his eyes or squinting and Oliver would look down at his feet.

Finally, Rick spoke up.

"What do you think he meant? Did he want us to stop fighting the Saviors, just... surrender to Negan?"

"We could pull over?" Michonne said, her voice high and scratchy. "We could read what he wrote—"

"No," Rick cut her off. "Not yet. Not me."

Oliver saw that Rick was blinking a lot, and that the skin around his eyes were red and swollen. He caught Oliver looking this time, cleared his throat, and threw a thumb over his shoulder.

"Take your inhaler," he said, "you're not sounding too good."

Déjà vu punched Oliver across the gut. He shut his eyes, pushing the memories of Patrick's death away as he searched his pockets, coming up dry.

"There are some spares," Rick said, "in the orange duffel."

Oliver searched, found them, and as he took his Ventolin, he heard Michonne say, "Rick... Carl — He wrote a letter to Negan."

Rick inhaled. "I need to talk to Jadis."

"What?"

"They have weapons, people."

"But, Hilltop... Oliver needs—"

"We can't just give it all up."

Michonne watched him. "Why now?"

"They went with me to the Sanctuary. The Saviors saw us there. They're gonna be a target too." Rick looked at her briefly from the road. "We still need them. They're ours. Not theirs."

And then Oliver was alone in the truck again, waiting outside Jadis' junkyard for Rick and Michonne to return. He felt numb. There, but not really... _there_. He heard gunshots and worry drove him mad, but with a broken leg and only one arm, he wasn't able to do anything but keep on waiting.

" _Hi?_ "

Oliver startled, looking around. He remembered the talkie. It was buried under some junk he'd moved about in search for his inhaler, so it took a few minutes to find it.

" _It's me,_ " Enid said. " _Pick up..._ "

Oliver's voice didn't come when he pressed the receiver, so the air fell into static.

" _Come on, I can hear you pressing the PTT button..._ "

He stopped and pushed the talkie away, shutting his eyes and holding his face in his hand. The tears ran down his wrist.

" _Please..._ " Enid sounded sad. " _I could really talk to you guys right now... I could really do with my friends—_ "

Oliver switched the channel back to the original one the previous owner had it at. He couldn't stop the crying. He couldn't stop how it felt to just dissolve into the tears, drowning in them like a flood. He couldn't stand it. There was a loud scream deep inside his head. He tried to shut his eyes and sleep through it, but it got louder, and Oliver cried harder, and he didn't know for how long the noise or the crying lasted, just that he'd stopped by the time Rick and Michonne finally returned.

Michonne opened the back, startling him. They'd been so quiet. She asked if he was okay and he looked at Rick, watching him climb into the driver's seat. His hair was wet with sweat, dripping, and he looked ill. Michonne said they found Jadis, alone, that the Saviors had killed her people, and that now they were leaving without her.

Michonne got in the front, and as they drove, Oliver realised she and Rick weren't talking to each other.

Rick was fidgeting.

"I shot above her head," he said quietly, throwing a hand up, "I just wanted her gone. Look, I saw her, she _made_ it. She ran into an empty alley just before I left. I didn't want her dead, I just... wanted her gone."

It explained the gunshots.

"Feels like what Carl was talking about," Michonne whispered, "what we should do, when we have a choice."

Rick pulled over.

He groaned.

He said, "Um... I need... I need a second."

"It's fine," Michonne said, and meant it.

Rick switched off the engine and sat there holding the letters for a minute. He handed Oliver his letter in exchange for the walkie-talkie, then took his own letter and Negan's with him outside, strolling a few hundred yards away across the grass. Michonne watched him.

Not ready to read his letter yet, Oliver folded it and put it in a duffel, then sat back and listened to the trees rustling outside. Michonne seemed to accept his decision, because she smiled at him. Her smile shook. She looked at her own letter but didn't read it.

"Give me Negan," they both heard from outside. It was hard to hear the whole conversation. Rick was pacing. He told Negan that Carl was dead, and that he write letters asking for peace.

"But it's too late for that. Even if we wanted a deal now, it doesn't matter. I'm gonna kill you..."

 _"How did it happen?"_

"What?"

 _"How did he die? Was it us? Was it the grenades? The fire?"_

"It wasn't you! Carl went out to help someone. And he got bit."

 _"God damn it... Shit. I, um... I am sorry. You know, I wanted him to be part of things. I had plans. He... That kid... That kid was the future."_

"The only future is one where you're dead."

Rick had paced too far to hear what Negan was saying. He came back a little.

 _"You set this course, Rick. Who's next?"_

 _"_ You are!"

 _"No. But someone is. You see, I stop people from dying. I am the answer. Now, it may have taken a hard lesson for you to hear it, but you should hear it now. It's time. Do not let any more of your shit decisions cost you to lose anyone else you love. That garbage that sticks with you. Forever."_

He paced too far away again. Oliver heard nothing but the last part.

 _"You failed,"_ Negan said. _"You failed as a leader, and most of all, Rick, you failed as a father. Just give up. Give up, because you have already lost."_

* * *

 **Notes:**

Congrats for reading on, my dudes. Much appreciated.

Happy reading.


	8. Dead or Alive Or: Clockwork

**_A/N:_** _Sorry it took a bit, I caught flu from my partner and I've got a bunch of deadlines. Enjoy!_

* * *

Oliver didn't remember much of the journey to Hilltop, just that they'd had to walk for some of it, which was awful. But they'd arrived finally and then Oliver was inside the infirmary trailer, sitting on a metal chair with Siddiq crouched before him, already half way through removing his cast.

"What's taking you so long?" another doctor asked him, frowning from another unconscious patient who she was dealing with.

"I'm just trying to be careful," Siddiq said, inhaling.

"Just cut it off already," she said, "we don't have all day."

Still, Siddiq hesitated. He cut an odd shape, quickly, then passed up part of the bandage he'd cut off. It was a small drawing of a pair of stag antlers which Carl had drawn at some point in the last few weeks, with his signature under it: _'with love, Carl'_ —it was a sickly, off-white colour now, and smelled foul, but Oliver put it away in his pocket anyway, feeling his face flume red and his eyes well.

"Thank you," he meant to say, but mouthed it instead.

Siddiq looked relieved.

The other doctor shook her head.

Once the cast was removed, Siddiq asked Oliver to try not to move his leg while he cleaned it for him with soap and a sponge—the urge to wriggle was difficult to ignore, since Oliver hadn't bent his knee in a month. The other doctor kept passing criticising comments across the room about how Siddiq was doing it, but at least didn't come over and do it herself. Then, finally, Siddiq was done, and had applied a new cast; shorter so it stopped just under the knee, and Oliver was allowed to move. His knee made an audible crack when he tucked it up to his chest. It felt so beautiful he groaned. Siddiq grinned. The grin went away quickly.

"Oliver, I..."

Oliver reached for his crutches at the same time Siddiq attempted to speak, and even though he had, Oliver pointed at the crutches again, and with a small falter, Siddiq handed them over.

He shook his head.

"Thanks for coming," he said. "Let me know if you need anything else. You have medication, yes?"

Oliver nodded. He found it too difficult to look Siddiq in the eye as he saw him out. Michonne was waiting with Bean. As the sun hit him, Oliver felt dizzy as the day's travelling caught up with him. Michonne took under his arm and helped him back across the Hilltop. They were headed to Barrington House and Michonne was explaining that she'd just learned Dwight went back to the Saviours, that Tara says he did it to save her and Daryl thinks he did it to save himself:—"It sounds to me like it was both," she said, and Oliver was listening, but then he had to stop and throw up next to a trailer. Michonne held back his hair. Bean tried to fuss. She pushed him away.

Oliver spit and wiped his mouth on his shoulder. He stood up, his leg stiff. Michonne hugged him. He hugged her back.

"Ma'am..." Jerry called out, appearing out the trailer door. He saw Oliver, too, and with a big, heavy smile, said, "Little dude. It's great to see you."

Oliver looked at his feet, shrugging something he hoped looked reciprocative. Jerry sighed, and then Henry was joining them from the trailer, a plate of something that didn't look touched in his hand.

"Look," Jerry said quietly, "we heard what happened. Sorry."

Michonne inhaled and nodded. Oliver looked at Bean, who was wagging his tail. And then Morgan was there.

"Oliver," he said. "Michonne. Hello." He looked stern and tired. "I was looking for Henry..."

"He's here," Jerry chirped. "I made him a PB and J sandwich."

Henry was pulling it apart. Jerry made a face.

Morgan pointed at Oliver. "Carol's here," he said. "She's over by the stockade, where we're keeping all the prisoners."

"The ones from the satellite outpost?" Michonne asked.

Morgan nodded, and Oliver recalled both Maggie's letter and Enid's speech over the radio about bad eggs.

"What happened at the Kingdom?" Michonne asked next.

"The Saviors came for the King, last night..." Morgan stopped and glanced at the trailer, to Henry, who was taking the first reluctant bite out of his sandwich. " _We..._ stopped them, and we got everybody else here."

"We're all here," Jerry said, beaming. "All of us."

 _You're wrong,_ Oliver thought, but bit his tongue.

Morgan was watching him. He had a stern grimace on his face, as if he were angry. "Go talk to y'momma, boy," he said.

Oliver left, crutching across Hilltop with Michonne's help. There was a heavy fog drifting slowly through Virginia, which, Oliver guessed, was probably why he hadn't noticed the stockade yet. Then again, he hadn't been very good at taking in a lot of detail since the morning, and was still experiencing time-gaps.

Bean didn't like the stockade and wandered off with Michonne when she left Oliver to speak with Carol. She was sitting on a tree-log, a few hundred feet across from the prisoners and their enclosure, keeping watch. Oliver stood beside her, squinting through the mist at the tall, wooden posts connected with several horizonal rows of barbed wire.

Jared was inside, as ratty and smug as always.

"Oh, not you again?!" he said.

Oliver flipped him the bird.

Carol swatted his hand down.

"Really?" Jared went on, addressing her now. "The kid's still kicking?" He went on complaining in the background, but she ignored him. Oliver sat beside her. For a while, they didn't speak, just watched the bad eggs.

"Are you okay?" Carol asked.

Oliver didn't respond. Didn't even look at her. But out the corner of his eye, he saw her shaking her head. She sighed.

"...I know you're not."

Oliver gave her a look, wishing she'd shut up. She threw her hands up, as if to surrender, all stubborn and frustrated and _Carol._

"Fine, don't talk to me," she bartered. "You don't have to talk to me. Look, I just... I know we don't have the most... healthy relationship anymore, but—" To calm her down, Oliver tipped to the side and put his head on her shoulder, and then she seemed to understand that he wasn't angry at her.

They didn't have to talk after that.

* * *

Later, Oliver woke up inside Jesus' trailer, curled up on the couch and buried in several tatty blankets and lumpy pillows. The room smelled familiar and nostalgic, like sweaty feet and early morning head-squashes. He looked around and saw Bean sleeping on the floor across from him. Enid was sitting at the table, reading something. Her letter. Oliver watched her. When she was done, she held the paper for a minute, watching the window. The sun was beginning to set, glowing dull and mouldy-grey. Very carefully, she folded the letter up and placed it on the table, and then, all at once, she began to cry. She buried her face in her hands and held her mouth to keep quiet. Oliver felt tears running across the bridge of his nose and wiped them.

Enid looked at him.

She got up.

Like clockwork, she crossed the room to him and he opened his arms, allowing her to fit into his front along the couch, his face in her collar and her arms around his head and shoulders. They both cried. Oliver didn't remember how long for.

* * *

 **Notes**

Next one up next month. Perhaps sooner.

Happy reading.


	9. The Key: Weird

_Screw it, I miss replying to reviews. Gonna quickly catch up on some, since I got all my uni deadlines in and I don't feel so guilty wasting time on fanfiction things now. Also, not replying here has left me feeling all detatched from you guys and this story for some reason. Like, I think replying puts a lot of myself out there for you to read, not just writing my shit, and not doing the review bit has just put me in a weird, too professional mood, which is probably pretty vein and self centered, but, like, you don't have to read this and you can skip to the story whenever you want, so yeah, just want it to be known that I'm always desperate to interact with you fuckors. Much love. From Gael the fucko writer idiot._

 **Ch 8. DampishPoet** Thank you. Yep, not going anywhere, just slower lately.

 **Ch 7. Molloo** Thanks a bunch. Glad you felt things. I put a lot of work into it.

 **Ch 7. Guest** Yeah, I did a thing like twenty minutes ago and I'm now super eager to post the rest of this season within the next few months, instead of drawing it out, so I hope you enjoy!

 **Ch 7. dreamer1293** A first-time commenter! That's great! Thanks for reading for this long too. And thank you for sharing that with me. I don't know if I would have been brave enough to write it, and I sent you a PM replying in more detail a while ago, but yeah I don't think you've seen it, which is another readon why I've decided to reply to reviews in chapters too, because I want you to know I saw it and I appreciated your honesty and trust in me. Reading what you said left me feeling all swollen up and sad and appreciative, so yeah, much love, and I wish you good things.

 **Ch 6. wonderbitch26** sorry not sorry hug an animal or a person or a pillow and you'll feel better. Also that means a bunch. I'm writing an actual book about more gay shit, but in a post nuclear world with robot companions, so knowing you or anyone might one day want to maybe look at it the things I keep making for even a second means a bunch. So yeah. Thanks!

 **Ch 6. Mr. Totally Drama** lol yeah...

 **Ch 5. rose** thank you, hopefully it goes okay.

 **Ch 1. FlareonDarkStar** lol it didn't end

 **Ch 3. Biter Two** BITER I MISS YOU AND I ADORE YOU

Sorry I haven't gotten around to all of you here, but you should see messages in your PMs at least. But yeah, kinda scared of the length and obnoxiousness of this reply list, so, hope this is enough.

* * *

Oliver woke up after everybody else the next day. The sun shone on his face and he looked around the empty trailer, thinking about food, until he thought of yesterday, and his appetite went away.

His orange duffel bag was on the floor. He knew a lot of his things were left behind in Alexandria, and wasn't surprised to find that most of what was in the bag belonged to Michonne and Rick, but some were his; some clothes, his old machete, and his inhalers, and his prosthetic, which he decided to wear again — he'd had enough time inside a sling. He put on some clean clothes and strapped his machete to his waste. It felt weird, having it there again. Weird, but in an okay way.

Before he left the trailer, he grabbed his beanie from inside Carl's hat, and found his letter there, too. He put it back, grabbed his crutch, and left.

Outside, the fog from yesterday had lifted into the sky, forming thin, pale, shiny clouds over Hilltop. Oliver went to the stables, where he found Roan grazing. It was good to see him, even better when he learned that Gregory and Jared had spent all evening yesterday mucking out the stables. When he went to find Rick, he instead found Enid, Michonne and Maggie waiting up at the watch posts. Oliver waited at the bottom. When Enid came down, she told him, "Rosita's out there — spotted something. Looks like someone's trying to get our attention."

They heard an engine returning and Enid went to Michonne open the gate. Rosita parked the van by the watch post, got out, and passed a letter to Maggie. "I don't know what the hell it is."

Maggie read it out: " _'If you fill the crates with food or phonograph records, I will gladly exchange it with a key to your future.'_?"

"It lists coordinates for our meeting spot," Rosita said to her. Maggie handed the letter to Michonne, and Oliver hobbled closer to read over her shoulder.

"This isn't the Saviors," Michonne said. "They'd blow through the gates, make a big show."

"I wouldn't put nothin' past them," Maggie said.

"Well, if it is a trap it's kinda obvious," Rosita said.

"Which is what could make it a trap," Maggie replied. She walked away.

"What if..." Michonne shook her head. "What if it's someone who actually wants to help?"

"If someone is trying to help us and we miss out," Maggie explained, "we miss out. If somebody's trying to kill us, we die."

"Not if we're careful."

"Being careful is staying here," Enid said.

Michonne nodded. "I'll go. I'll see what's up."

"You go, I go," Rosita said.

"Me, too," Oliver said, though his voice was so rusty he doubted anybody heard him, plus, Enid spoke in the same moment.

"Rick wants us here," she said.

"I know," Michonne told her. "But the last time we took a chance like this, it changed everything." She looked at them all, and Oliver thought of the barn, of the look that wasn't a: _Let's-attack-that-man look._ But a: _It-seems-like-he's-an-okay-guy-to-me_ look instead. "Rick didn't agree with me then," Michonne went on. "He may not understand me now—"

"He won't," Maggie said.

"But eventually, he will. He will."

"Jesus and the others have been scavenging," Maggie told her, "and we're still starving. Maybe this person does have something that can help."

"Then, I'm coming with you," Enid said.

"Okay," Maggie said, checking her ammo. She looked at Oliver. "Think I heard you volunteer, right?"

He nodded.

"Well, you can't come with 'cause of your leg, but you can help me while we're gone — you know what a phonograph is?"

He nodded again.

Maggie gestured her head. "Good. You're going to grab records, case this is real." She turned to Enid. "You get extra clips in case it isn't."

* * *

Michonne, Maggie, Enid and Rosita were back within an hour, returning with another van full of supplies, which Rosita drove, and three strangers. All women. Two, twins, wore dark clothing, one in a sun hat and the other in a backwards baseball cap. Their names were Hilda and Midge. The third woman was dressed in a pale grey suit, her short hair was white, and she wore thin, round glasses and silver earrings. Her name was Georgie.

The three of them were told to wait outside the house by their van while Maggie spoke in private to Jerry about the Saviors. Oliver watched the strangers from the porch, and at some point, Georgie spoke to him.

"Might you be Oliver?" she asked. "Unless there's another young man here with a broken leg and one arm."

He stood and crutched to the edge of the porch, nodding.

Georgie smiled, then gestured at Enid and Rosita. "These young women tell me you are in charge of the phonographs," she said to him, and pointed. "Now, I hope they are music. I _don't_ accept spoken word."

Enid came up the steps, looking angry, then nudged his hook and told him to come inside with her. He did, shrugging politely to Georgie when she stuttered something to him.

"Midge, or maybe Hilda —I don't know— thinks moisture is a made-up word," Enid said when they were in the foyer. Oliver looked her. Even for Enid, that was mean.

They waited in the foyer across the room from Barbra and Judith, who were sitting on the couch with and a baby girl called Gracie: Gracie was found at a Savior outpost.

Judith came over and showed Oliver Patty. He held the hand-made plushy. It was wet. When he put it to his nose, he smelled soap. Enid explained: "Oh. Right. We had to wash it after Judy dropped it."

"I didn't drop him," Judith said, very firmly, snatching the cat back and hugging it. It wetted her dress front. "He fell in walker water."

Oliver pretended not to find this news concerning. He'd also never heard Judith talk about the walkers before or call them by name. He wondered who'd taught her about them, or if she'd just figured it out herself.

He watched her pull absently at a loose thread, undoing a corner of Patty's belly patch. Some soggy stuffing poked out and Oliver reached over and tried to push it back in.

"He's broken," Judith said. She didn't sound upset, just disappointed.

"That's okay," Barbra said across the foyer. "I'll sew him back together later."

Judith nodded happily and climbed up onto Oliver's lap. He felt his eyes water, and made sure not to let her see.

Just then, Maggie and Jerry left the office.

"It'll be dark soon," she told him. "Get people ready. You know what to do."

Michonne went in the office next. The door wasn't shut, so Oliver and Enid could hear them. "We should make the deal with Georgie and let them go before the Saviors get here."

"I can't let her go," Maggie said, "not with what they have. I got too many mouths to feed. They've crates of food in that van. People here could be starving soon."

Enid got up. Oliver caught her glance. Her eyes were red. And then she went inside the office. "Maggie's right," she said. "We take their stuff. Otherwise, someone else will. Someone else will kill them. It's a miracle they're still alive, anyways. The Saviors are on their way. We're gonna fight, and some of us will die, so why should we give a shit about people who don't give a shit about themselves?!"

Judith, alarmed by Enid's rising voice, looked around. Oliver put a hand on her head.

"I mean, out there, living like that?" Enid went on. "We take their stuff, and we use it. We stop pretending that things just work out! They don't."

There was quiet. In it, Judith looked at Oliver, pulling a face like someone was in trouble and she was glad it wasn't her. Oliver was too invested in the conversation to entertain her much.

"Carl rescued Siddiq," Michonne said inside the office, "and now we have a doctor, and we have a friend... Carl was brave."

"And now he's _dead_." Enid's voice broke as she said it.

"Step back," Michonne warned.

Enid left the office, and then the building; not looking at Oliver or anyone.

"Things don't just work out," Maggie said finally.

"No," Michonne said. "No, they don't. But I think he knew that. He didn't give up on who Rick wanted him to be. And we can't on who he wanted us to be. _We can't."_

Oliver and Judith watched Michonne leave then. When Judith looked at Oliver, she reached up and touched a tear under his eye. He wiped it away, apologising to her.

"Are you sad?" she asked him.

Oliver sniffed and nodded. "Yeah, Judy. I am."

"Why?"

At this, Barbra told Oliver, "She knows what happened, she's just so young... she doesn't understand yet."

Oliver nodded to her. Judith was still waiting for him to explain.

"Carl..." He held his breath and was careful to keep his face still. "Carl's gone. And... we won't ever see him again."

Judith didn't seem to like this conversation. Awkwardly, she climbed down, put her soggy Patty cat into Oliver's lap, and walked away. Oliver had to take a minute. Eventually, he crutched across the room and handed the cat back to Barbra. He left the building. Bean was sitting outside, enjoying being petted by Midge—the sunhat. Hilda—the cap, grimaced at them. Rosita was watching over everybody, and Michonne was standing on the porch. When Oliver stood by her, she put an arm around his waist and squeezed. It felt good to lean into her.

Maggie came out after a few minutes, carrying the music records Oliver had collected while they were gone. Hilltop didn't have much, but it was still difficult choosing what to get rid of.

"No spoken word?" Georgie asked him, putting her thumbs up. Oliver raised his eyebrows and put a thumb up, too, and she took the crates.

"I'm agreeing to your deal," Maggie said. "We'll fill your four crates, then you can go. You're gonna want that to be sooner than later."

"I accept. But I'm changing the terms. This one, no more. In addition, you can have a sizeable portion of my food stores. From the looks of things around here, you need it far more than we do."

"You're giving us food? In exchange for what?"

"Records and good faith." Georgie put her hands together. "To be clear, this isn't a gift, it's barter. I'll be back. Maybe not for a while, but I will, and by then, I expect great things. Here is the aforementioned: _Key To A Future._ "

She presented a thick, handwritten book.

"Inside, there are handwritten plans for windmills, watermills, silos, hand-drawn schematics, guides to refining grain, creating lumber, aqueducts. A book of medieval, human achievement, so we may have a future from our past... Yes, I know, the originals are in my head, but I made photocopies. Still, it's been an evolving document since the copy shop."

"Thank you," Maggie said.

"Build this place up. I want those other crates filled when I get back. Cheeses for Hilda, pickles for Midge."

"We'll see what we can do."

"You will."

Georgie patted her shoulder, then got in her van and left with Hilda and Midge. Michonne left to keep watch and speak to Enid. Oliver went back to his trailer. He took Carl's hat and held it, thinking of his letter, but he put the hat back, the letter inside it, and left.

* * *

 **Notes:**

Happy reading.


	10. Do Not Send Us Astray, Part 1: Cope

**DampishPoet** Damn, I love that song. Sorry about that lol

* * *

Rick, Morgan, Daryl, Bertie, Scott, were spaced out for several miles between Hilltop and the Sanctuary, and their horns went off just before dark, signalling the Saviors' approach and allowing Hilltop around half an hour to prepare. Before he'd left, Morgan instructed Oliver to wear Benjamin's armour, since Morgan had found a better fitting set.

Lookouts got ready, and everybody else was hustling around the house. Oliver was forced to sit out of the way, due to his leg — at least until the time came to fight. It reminded him of the office blocks, and that reminded him of sitting and listening to music, and that lead to Oliver spending a lot of time singing under his breath — he'd missed it, singing to himself; he missed music, too.

 _'Sucks we're fresh out of Weird Al, huh?'_

"Oh. Totally, man," Oliver said, grinning while he turned to Carl. "It's..." — He caught himself, turned back, and tried to think of other things.

He found Juni and Ms. Hale sitting in a room with Judith and Gracie. The latter three were playing on the couch. Oliver sat with Juni on the rug because he was already reading and wouldn't mind if Oliver didn't try and talk to him; wouldn't think anything of it at all, really.

Henry came over after a while. He, unlike Juni, wanted Oliver to talk to him, and patted his shoulder to initiate a conversation: "Can I ask you something?"

Oliver shrugged.

"Morgan says Gavin killed my brother," Henry said. "Did he?"

Oliver hesitated, then nodded.

Henry sighed.

"I killed him." His voice was very dry. "I want them all dead," he added. Oliver looked at Henry's stick; the end was stained red.

 _'I think about him, what I did to him and how easy it was to just kill him...'_

Oliver didn't know what to say. Ms. Hale seemed to, and attempted to calm him. "Henry, sweetie... you've been through a lot, but Benjamin wouldn't want you to—"

"What do you know what he would want?!" Henry shot at her, and then Juni signed at him to go away and Henry blew up at them all: "Why aren't you angry?!" he screamed. "They killed your sister, too!"

Henry must've been talking too quickly for Juni to read his lips, because he looked confused and was starting to pick at the skin on his knuckles anxiously.

"Why aren't you even _sad?_ " Henry shouted.

Ms. Hale stood between them, her small, frail frame now tall and towering. "Juni doesn't cope the same way you or I do," she said, tears in her eyes. "He is hurting, just like you are. He's just not showing it like you do, in crying or—"

"I'm not crying," Henry said, even though he was.

"What I mean is..."

"I don't _care_ what you mean!" Henry yelled. "I don't care about his autism. I want them dead, and _you_ should, too!"

Ms. Hale watched him, her cheeks twitching. A tear ran down her face. "I think you should go and calm down, Henry," she said. "Somewhere quiet, where you can think about what you just said."

Henry left the room, slamming the door after himself. Juni signed something to his grandmother, but Oliver didn't catch enough of it. Still, Ms. Hale looked at Oliver, eyes wet, and put a hand up over her lips — Juni signed: _I know you're talking about me if you cover your mouth._

Quickly, she signed back: _It's not about you. Look away._

Juni obeyed, and in a very anxious, desperate voice, Ms. Hale asked Oliver, "You saw her, didn't you? Our Lani? I heard from your people: you went back for her?"

Oliver felt his stomach knot. "I did, but..."

"I know. I know... she didn't make it," she said, blinking back tears. "Just... she wasn't alone, when she..."

"No," Oliver said. "She was with Carl. He was who found her. He and Siddiq."

"Was she wounded? Is that how she died?"

Oliver shook his head. "She was recovering. It was when the Saviors came. I don't know what happened for sure. Nobody saw, except Carl. But, I know she was trying to help us."

Ms. Hale nodded, wiped her eyes, then waved in front of Juni's face to let him know he could look again. His knuckles were bleeding.

"Juni!" She grabbed his hand and tried to fuss, but he fought her, screeching and reeling away from her, so she gave up and signed him to go clean his hands.

Breathless, Juni wiped his knuckles with his sleeves, got up, and left the room. Ms. Hale glanced at Oliver again, looking drained. Oliver shrugged, hoping it seemed comforting.

"We call cope in different ways," he said.

* * *

Not long later, the sky was dark and everything was ready. The horn signallers weren't back yet, and nobody knew if they would be before the Saviors arrived, so it was mainly down to seeing what happened. Oliver waited in the foyer with everybody. Things were very quiet, until finally, he could hear engines. It had to be the Saviors' trucks because they hit the spike-strips, and everybody heard them stop a small distance from the gate. Out on the porch, Maggie spoke into her walkie talkie.

"I wanna talk to Negan..."

 _"Well, hello there, you are speaking to Negan — but my birth certificate says 'Simon'. With whom do I have the distinct displeasure of speaking to?"_

"Maggie Rhee. The widow."

 _"Well then, hello again, widow Rhee. Allow me to offer my condolences. For what happened, and what's about to happen. In case it's not already plane as Hilltop potatoes, yours truly is speaking on behalf of Negan this go-around. And I assure you that the man himself personally received your care package next-day delivery. I noticed it was the box I gave you in good faith. Tricks on me. But the bill's come due, and you and your people are gonna have to pay. Quite dearly, I'm afraid."_

While Simon talked, Oliver kept his Thunder unholstered as the prisoners were taken out onto the porch, under guard of Leviathan and Dianne. Jared sneered at Oliver as he passed by, but another Savior prisoner —a short man with dirty-blonde hair and a beard— pushed him on.

"Sorry about him, kid," he said, in a gentle, back-of-the-throat type of voice. "He's all bark, no bite."

"No," Oliver said flatly, "he's bite, too."

"Yeah..." The guy's mouth quirked. "Suppose you're right."

"Hey. Keep up with the rest," Dianne ushered him outside with the others, then nodded to her son. "Lev, go inside now."

He looked at her, weaving through the crowd of prisoners. "What?"

"I don't want you out here when things start getting messy," she said.

He frowned. "Mom, I've been fighting this whole time, with you." She was going to argue, but he went on. " _I know messy._ I saw it with Neil, and everything that happened at the outpost... to Ray. Lani. Ezme. Joey... I can handle it."

Dianne glared at him, then her face turned soft that way mother's faces do and she put her hand through his long, wavy hair. "Alright..." She sighed, then kissed his forehead. "But stay close."

"Yeah, yeah," he said.

Maggie was still talking through her talkie: "Your thirty-eight people are alive and breathing. Turn around and leave us be, and they'll stay that way. And if you don't? I have thirty-eight bullets that I will personally fire into all thirty-eight."

She must've handed the talkie to the gentle-voiced guy; Oliver could barely hear him: "It's too nice a night to spend it dying slow, don't you think, Simon?"

"So how's this gonna go?" Maggie asked.

 _"Well, Maggie Rhee. This is highly regrettable, but the way I see it, the Saviors you're in possession of there are damaged goods. They've got themselves into their own pickle. This organisation prizes those who, A: avoid capture, and B: figure out their own shit when said outcome eventuates, which, in the end, is my way of saying... SCREW THEM!"_

There was some more talking, inside Hilltop and out, until finally, there was a motorbike engine and shooting, and the gate was being opened, and Daryl drove into Hilltop on his motorbike. The school bus was driven in front of the entrance after him, causing Simon to crash his truck right into the side of it.

"NOW!" Maggie roared.

The gunfire started, from people on the porch and the Saviors, and it didn't stop for minutes. Then the minutes were over and things on the porch were very still. People were whispering inside. Then, suddenly, people outside on the porch were screaming and falling to the ground — something smashed through a window upstairs and embedded the floor next to Oliver's foot. It was an arrow. Oliver was yanked back. He couldn't see much. People outside on the porch were rushing back in for cover and he knew he had to get ready for the second phase, so he went upstairs, with Leviathan's help, to the windows, where they both, along with several others, pulled up the windows and set up their rifle stations.

"Levi," Oliver said breathlessly, "your shoulder. It's bleeding."

Leviathan shook his head. "Arrow barely scratched me. I'm fine. You got that?"

"Yeah." Oliver nodded, keeping his rifle steady with his hand and prosthetic. They kept their heads down. Downstairs, the prisoners being locked in the office by Dianne. She scanned the balcony for Leviathan, then nodded when she saw him. He nodded back.

"LOOKOUTS, FALL BACK!" Maggie shouted from outside. "FRONT LINES, KEEP THEM COVERED!" She came back inside and took her place upstairs with the others, setting up her rifle at the window.

"Is Rick back yet?" Oliver asked her.

"I hope so," she said into her rifle, watching outside. Oliver looked too. Everything was very quiet again. The Saviors whistled, then, slowly, came out of hiding and wandered towards the house. Oliver scanned every face for Negan, but didn't find him.

"Where is he?"

"Shh..."

"I can't see him."

"Almost..."

Oliver waited, and then, finally, Maggie gave the signal, and the floodlights outside came on, blinding Simon and the Saviors, and Hilltop unloaded on them. Oliver counted two men at the mercy of his trigger finger, and the ones who weren't taken down by the others, scattered like ants, disappearing through the mazes of trailers. Oliver couldn't see much except the few panicked Saviors he could take shots at, but heard Rick's ground group ambush them around back, and finally, as the gunshots waded, a few Saviors were running.

"There!" Oliver gasped. "By the gates!" He picked off one, but others got out and he heard their engines revving. "No!" Oliver growled.

"They're leaving," Leviathan said. Oliver cursed, shooting desperately but hitting nothing except dirt and walls and the side of the bus. Leviathan grabbed his arm. "Stop, man."

Oliver shoved him off. "No!"

"It's done!" Leviathan yelled.

"It's not!" Oliver shouted. "It's not done. Not until they're dead. Not until he is!"

Leviathan stared at him, out of breath and sweating. "He wasn't there, man," he said. Oliver caught his breath, furious. He felt tears and swatted them away. Leviathan seemed to be able to tell Oliver had understood him, and sat back to catch his own breath. "Come on, dude," he said eventually, stepping back, "let's go find the others."

* * *

 **Notes**

I think Oliver's like... real fukin angry.

Also, wanted to talk about Juni's character a bit: I've grown up with someone who has Autism, but I'm still finding writing it real challenging, and I keep having to check myself. Plus, the whole deaf thing makes it real difficult too. But I think it's turned out okay.

Happy reading.


	11. Do Not Send Us Astray, Part 2: Henry

**Rose** Thank you!

 **DampishPoet** I am so excited uuu Ellie is so spectacular fuuuq

* * *

 _A/N: Moved into a new house for my third year of uni. Much nicer than the last shithole. Still can't really thank you readers enough for giving me the confidence to decide to apply for uni two years ago, so yeah, thank you again. It's not just brought me the education I want but has brought me the confidence to pursue the life I want. I won't bore you with any gay (figuratively and literally) details but I think a lot of really unpleasant things would have happened to me if I hadn't chosen this path, so again, thank you, heroes._

* * *

The next day, the remaining prisoners were put in the stockade again. Maggie turned off the generator to save gas and Barrington House became hot and stuffy, so people got to taking down the boards on the windows. Several people were being treated for their wounds, along with Tara, who'd been shot, and Tobin, who was stabbed.

Oliver and Enid were sitting outside the infirmary trailer, waiting for Leviathan to come out from his shoulder exam. "I got to know him a little," Enid said at some point, "during training. You two were friends while you stayed at Kingdom, I guess."

Oliver shrugged. "Kinda went cold after he found out about everything..."

"Everything?"

Oliver nodded. "Where I came from. Who I knew. How I got there. I never told any of them. And sometimes... I told them stuff that wasn't true."

Enid seemed to understand.

Finally, Leviathan came out with a wrapped-up bicep. His mom was there, too. She kissed his forehead and told him, "Go find some shade, cool down. It's so hot out — you're burning up."

"I'm fine, Mom. Jesus."

She smiled and left. Leviathan stood there awkwardly. Enid got up, said, "Uh, see you, guys..." in a way like she knew something neither of them did, and Oliver watched her go. Leviathan sat across from him, in the shade.

"I like your friend. Enid," Leviathan said finally. "She's cool."

Oliver didn't say anything, and neither did Leviathan for a while afterwards. Long enough that Rick went inside the infirmary and came out again several minutes later, holding a damp towel to the cut on his forehead — as he passed, he put his hand on Oliver's shoulder, squeezed, then let go and kept walking.

Leviathan cleared his throat. "I heard, about... you know..." He stopped and started over, quieter: "If I'd known it was going to end like that, I wouldn't have been... so..." He sighed. "I'm just... you know — sorry."

"Look, man," Oliver said, "I don't care what you think, or thought. As long as you're here, helping out like last night, you can do what you want."

Leviathan seemed to appreciate this.

Oliver shook his head and spent a while scripting in his head what he wanted to say, and then he said it: "I'm sorry, too."

"You are?"

"I am," Oliver said. "I was an asshole to you. I lied to you — to all of you. I shouldn't have done that."

Leviathan nodded slowly.

"Listen," Oliver added, "I went to the outpost. I didn't see it up close, but, Carl, he..." He swallowed. "He put them down. All of them that were turned."

Leviathan was looking at his feet. He nodded. "Thanks."

Oliver turned away. Behind the house, he could hear some of the others digging graves. He could see Carol speaking with Henry — he looked mad, and Oliver heard him tell her, "I wouldn't have died if I went out there," and Carol tell him back, "You would have, Henry. Just trust me... you would have." She did that thing she did sometimes. Oliver never understood how she did it. But she turned and looked directly at him across Hilltop, as if she knew he was there watching her.

Oliver got up, using his prosthetic to sheath his machete, then followed her and Henry towards the house. "Later, Levi," he said as he left. "Look after yourself."

"Yeah, man," he said, "you, too."

The heat inside the house made Oliver sweaty and uncomfortable. He followed Carol up to the second-floor hallway where she was waiting outside the bathroom for Henry.

"Hey," Oliver said once he'd finally made it up there. He tapped the banister with his hook for a moment. "Heard you talking to Tobin this morning," he admitted. "About if you'll leave or not, after."

Carol didn't look surprised. She glanced at her feet, then at his, then she put her back to the banister and gave Oliver her best: _give me your worst_ shrug, and he did.

"This time," he said, "you won't leave."

She didn't say anything, but when she saw that he wasn't angry or upset or anything, she scoffed — a little nervously. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Oliver said, and began to walk away. "You won't because you can't anymore. Just like me..."

* * *

As the night fell over Hilltop, a few people's wounds had become infected, Tobin and Leviathan included, and they were staying in the infirmary trailer until the antibiotics could bring down their fevers. Everybody else slept inside Barrington House; staying together for safety — every room and office was full of sleeping bodies, as well as the second-floor landing and downstairs in the foyer, too. Oliver caught an early night in an upstairs bedroom with Enid and Maggie and the little baby Gracie. Rick and Michonne were staying next door with Judith. Michonne came in to say goodnight at one point, and the smell of her dreadlocks as she bent down to kiss Oliver's cheek was the last thing he remembered before he woke up several hours later needing to use the bathroom.

Despite not bringing his glasses, he still noticed the couple tangled together in the blackened shadows at the end of the hallway, heard their wet kisses, and decided to go downstairs to leave them some privacy. Inside the bathroom while he went, he watched the shadows of tired footsteps pass under the door. Though, as he left to go back upstairs, he saw someone —Henry— cross the foyer and leave the house; he seemed to be wearing armour and carrying his stick, but Oliver wasn't sure. It took him a while with his crutch and efforts not to disturb anybody, but he made it outside and across Hilltop, following Henry's voice.

"Do you know which one killed my brother?"

"I—I don't know who your brother is," Gregory was saying. "I—I don't know any of these people. I'm not one of them."

Oliver couldn't see well, but made out Henry standing in front of the stockade, an assault rifle in hand.

"That's a very _dangerous_ weapon you got there, kiddo," Gregory went on. "Uh, I don't want you to get hurt. I don't want anyone to get hurt. Why don't you give it to me, and we can talk, huh? I'm sorry about your brother. Killing them isn't gonna bring him back."

"No," Henry said. "But it'll make me feel better. It already did once. And why would you be in here if you're not with them? I'm not dumb. One of you knows who killed Ben, and if I have to, I'm gonna start shooting people until someone tells me."

"Henry," Oliver called out.

He wheeled around and aimed his gun.

Oliver put up his arms. "Dude... It's just me."

"Stay back," he warned.

Alden was standing by Gregory now, a hand out. "Hey, kid... I get it... My — My big brother died, too. Killing a bunch of guys who might've had something to do with it sounds... pretty damn good, in theory. But it's not gonna make you feel any better. Not for long. I know."

"What's up, Al?" Jared yawned from the ground.

"Nothing," Alden said quickly. "Go back to sleep."

Oliver wanted to tackle Henry while he was distracted, but knew with his leg he wouldn't get far, let alone not even having his prosthetic, or anything except the clothes on his back and the boot on his foot — then there was screaming from inside the house. They all turned and looked.

Oliver cursed.

"Henry," he said, "we have to go—"

"No!" he hissed. "I'm not going anywhere until I get what I came here for."

The screaming went on inside Barrington House. Oliver limped forward and snatched at Henry's arm, but he spun around and hit him hard across the face with his stick and Oliver collapsed.

"Oh-ho, shit," Jared laughed. While Oliver writhed on the ground winded, Jared stood tall to listen to the house. "Music to my ears..."

"Was it you?" Henry ordered.

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about, kid," he lied.

Henry grit his teeth. He stepped over to Oliver, kicked away his crutch, then went to the gate and unlocked it.

"Henry," Oliver grunted, struggling to get up. "Dude, _don't!_ "

"I want the guy who killed my brother," Henry yelled, inside the stockade with his gun swinging at them all. "Somebody better tell me _now!_ " Oliver tried to get up, but Henry aimed his gun at him and told him to stay down.

"Look, I know you're angry," Alden tried, both hands up like everybody else, "okay? I know. I was, too. But words are a lot easier t-to live with than actions, all right?"

Henry ignored him. "Be a man and step forward, so I don't have to kill your friends. I'm gonna count to ten and start shooting. One. Two. Three. Four. Five—" Suddenly, the screaming wasn't only from the house, but inside the stockade. Oliver saw one of the prisoners, turned, and tearing into another Savior's throat. Others started panicking, running. Henry started shooting randomly. Oliver saw Jared charge him—"Henry, watch out!"—and knock him down.

"Gate's open, boys!" Jared yelled. "Let's go! Oh, no, not you, cripple." He cornered Oliver in his attempt to help Henry, and shoved him hard, sending him staggering towards the turned prisoner. Oliver caught her lunge against his elbows and span to the ground to avoid her. Though, she was stronger than him, fresher. She grabbed him and he tried to keep her away, screaming through his teeth while she growled and snapped at his face, and then there was a crack of wood against skull and she was limp, and Oliver shoved her off.

"Over here, you big stupid rotter! Get me! Get me!"

Oliver could hear Henry luring more away but was so winded it took him a long time to get up and leave the stockade. He grabbed his crutch outside, but by then Henry was being cornered by the front gate by them. A Hilltop woman who Oliver didn't know the name of and another one. He made it there in time to whack the female walker across the back of the knees so that Henry could drive his staff through her nose. The second walker grabbed him, and Oliver yanked it back and hit it with his crutch. He saw its face and it was Leviathan and the horror came over him like a riptide and he hit him again and again until he was dead. Oliver knelt there sobbing and heaving for a minute until Henry tugged his shoulder and pointed to the house.

"They're coming..."

And they were.

Standing, Oliver gulped away the rock in his throat and steadied himself.

"We have to go!" Henry cried.

"No."

"We have to!"

"Pick up your stick."

"No!"

"Henry..."

He was already staggering away, panicked. Oliver cursed. He knew he couldn't take them on his own, and he knew he wasn't fast enough to get past, and he knew that if he left Henry alone he would never see him again, so he thought of Sam and he thought of Mika and he thought of Lizzie and he thought of Carl, and then he turned on his heel and went after him.

* * *

 **Notes:**

The couple tangled in the darkness were not a couple Oliver just saw a walker feast and didn't notice without his glasses.

Happy reading.


	12. Still Gotta Mean Something: Complicated

Walkers never left their trail. Not all night and not all day following. No matter how far they went, once they'd lost one cluster another would spot them soon after — Oliver was in too much pain and Henry was too afraid to leave him. And the sun wasn't showing through the clouds; they couldn't tell north from south. And they looked for a place to rest but found nothing that was safe enough from the dead bodies following them, so all they could do was keep going, keeping just enough out of their reach. The woods seemed to go on forever. They saw nothing and nobody but the trees and the dirt and the clouds and the dead.

"Oliver... I'm really tired."

"I know, man."

"You're really heavy."

"I know... It's hard."

"I can still hear them."

"I know, man... I know."

"You're slowing down."

"I'm trying not to."

"Should we stop for a minute?"

"No. Just... a little farther."

"Are you sure? Your leg."

"Just... a little... farther."

"A little farther. Okay."

So they went on just a little farther, and just a little farther on from that, until the woods were silent except their heavy breaths and pounding hearts, and Henry was too spent to keep pulling him along. Oliver knelt at the foot of a huge oak tree and held his head between his knees, breathless and waiting for the pain in his leg to wade. Henry disappeared. Oliver could hardly worry about him. He was too preoccupied trying to breathe — he'd left is inhaler behind at Hilltop.

 _Shit..._

He brought his head up out of his elbows when Henry returned.

"I found something," he said.

"Okay," Oliver said, holding out his hand, "help me up."

"Okay."

"We have to hurry."

"Okay."

* * *

It was the road with a single drive-in cinema on the left and a small bridge up ahead, and by some miracle, the sky had cleared that way and Oliver could see the sun setting directly in between the gap of distant trees on either side of the bridge.

"West," he said. "That's west. And we need to go east."

"How do you know?"

"This is Marshall road. That's Redding. We used this road once to lead a herd away..." He cleared his throat and checked around them, saw nothing but the trees and the clouds and the fence around the cinema parking lot, then went to the entry kiosk. The door was left open and the building was very small, so they went in and blocked the door behind them and hid in the back room in the dark and waited until the shambling noises outside passed by. Across from them was a corpse lying slumped and dead across the floor, rotting into the wood.

"We'll sleep here tonight," Oliver said, limping to the front and sitting under the desk. His leg throbbed, and his toes were coated in dirt and bruises. "We'll leave for Alexan — Hilltop, I mean, in the morning."

Henry was looking through the shelves around the room, opening candy drawers and the popcorn desks and the drink stands and coming away mostly disappointed. Oliver left him to it. He was in too much pain to coax him to sit and rest. Then, finally, Henry sat down next to him, huddled under the desk, with two packets of candy in hand.

"Found them in a box." His voice was scratchy, but proud. "Here... M&M's."

Oliver threw them across the room. They hit the popcorn stand with a rattle. Henry watched, then crawled over and retrieved them, like a dog. He sat beside Oliver again and crossed his legs, handing him the Hershey's bar instead. Oliver ate it, then watched Henry eat the M&M's — he didn't seem to enjoy them much.

"If you tell me they're stale, I'll cut my own throat," Oliver warned.

Henry didn't say anything, just fiddled with the packet. After a long time he asked, "What do you think happened?"

"I don't know."

"All those walkers. Why were they—"

"I don't know," Oliver said again, harsher. "But I _would_ know, if you hadn't run away, and we hadn't spent all night and day being chased by them to the next fucking town over!"

Henry bit his mouth and sulked.

"I think they're all dead," he whispered finally, and a tear dripped onto his calf. He wiped his face and his leg and sniffed. "I thought it would make me feel better. I don't feel better. I feel worse."

Oliver wanted to yell at him. To tell him to get over it. To get used to it. To get used to all the people who died and all the people who will still die and always die _because you weren't there to save them!_ But he didn't. Henry sat there and ate him M&M's and cried and Oliver watched him and then he cried, too. Henry began shivering soon after. Oliver, too. They pried some old curtains down from one of the windows and huddled together wrapped inside them. Henry asked how long it would take to get back to Hilltop tomorrow and Oliver said, "Not as long as it took getting here."

"Okay," Henry said, watching him.

"Why are you staring?" Oliver asked.

"You're wheezing, in your chest."

"I know."

"Are you going to die?"

"One day."

"I know that."

"Okay."

"If they're out looking for us, and they find us, you won't have to walk far."

"Maybe. I don't know."

"Do you think Carol will come?"

"Maybe. I... don't know." Oliver was quiet for a second. He coughed, and then he said, "Listen, Henry, you gotta know something about her. She had a kid, before."

"Okay."

"A daughter."

"Okay."

"She lost her... and I think she lost a part of herself, too. Do you understand?"

Henry looked like he didn't but he nodded anyway.

"I think you remind her of her," Oliver said. "I think... I think I remind her of her, too. And I think that's hard for her. She left me once because she didn't want to lose me like that, too. And now that we're both out here, it's probably going to be hard for her to come looking for us."

"Why would that make it harder?"

Oliver shook his head. "People are complicated, man. They do stuff that doesn't make sense to anybody but them. I've done it. Sometimes when I'm sad, I lie, or I don't talk for a while, or I do bad things to myself or I cause bad things to happen. You did it, too. Last night. It made sense back then, to you, but not anymore."

Henry dipped his head and nodded. Oliver inhaled hard, and bent forward to open his chest. It didn't work and breathing gave him that feeling like it was becoming a chore, like it did whenever he struggled like this, like it was a fight that took more energy than it gave back and he might rather just sleep and let himself drift off away from it — he coughed and held his head and tried to think of other things.

"Are you going to suffocate?" Henry asked.

"N — _No..._ idiota. Just shut up for a while, would you?"

Henry did, and they were silent for the rest of the evening.

* * *

Henry stopped shivering finally and slept through most of the night. Although Oliver's asthma didn't improve, the rest helped his pain and the quiet, wild noises outside numbed out all the noise inside his head. At some point, after deciding to sit at the desk chair for a while to keep lookout while Henry curled up at his feet, he stared up through the window at the only star he could see: the North Star. He looked at the road ahead, at the darkness looming around them, and he became aware of how much scarier the world was without his glasses, or a gun, or at the very least a knife.

Oliver saw a light not long later, glinting along the road behind the trees. A vehicle, coming their way. His chest froze. He shook Henry awake and told him they had to move, that someone was coming.

"What if it's someone from Hilltop?"

"What if it's not?"

"So what?"

"They could be bad people."

"Saviors?"

"Or worse?"

"There are worse people than the Saviors?"

"Sometimes. Yes. We have to go."

They barely made it into the treeline before the truck drove by. Oliver was sure they'd been spotted because it slowed as it passed and they pinned their backs against tree trunks, the headlights' shadows casting huge, sprinting monsters ahead of them, but then it was gone and the forest was black and they had to head for Hilltop. They felt their way through the trees. If they heard walkers, they went another way or hid until they passed. There was a narrow escape when a lurker stumbled out of nowhere and grabbed Henry's arm, tearing off his shoulder armour; Oliver pushed the walker back with his crutch, snatched Henry's collar, and they hurried on.

Henry could run a lot faster that Oliver could, but only strayed farther than he could see him once. Oliver stopped still to listen for him, and heard nothing but the walkers stumbling off the wrong way in the distance behind him. Henry was lost if Oliver misplaced him. So Oliver kept very still, hoping Henry would find him simply by retracing his steps. Finally, he saw him, not far away but rushing back from somewhere, and waving Oliver his way.

"I found something."

Oliver trudged on after him. There was a stream, if they followed it left they would wind up back at the drive-in, but if they went right they would end up at Alexandria. They had to go through. Henry climbed down the ditch, careful as he manoeuvred himself past a mapping of tree roots reaching out from the bank into the stream. He cupped his hand into the water and — "No," Oliver hissed, breathless. "You'll turn by morning."

Henry dropped his hand and wiped his jeans. "We could boil some?"

Oliver shook his head. "The fire... it'll attract them." He was too out of breath to talk. Breathing was more exhausting than walking at this point. He needed to sit, or collapse — just breath for a while. Henry let him. While Oliver laid in the dirt at the top of the bank, staring up at the stars, he could hear Henry pacing nearby. It wasn't a good place to rest. It was a death wish.

 _It is a death wish._

"Hey," Oliver wheezed, turning his head. "Hey, listen to me, man."

Henry knelt next to him, knees muddy and teeth chattering.

"I can't make it all the way back from here like this," Oliver explained. "I need... I need you to go by yourself."

"What? I... I'm not going without you."

"I'll be right behind you," Oliver said to him. "As soon as I catch my breath."

"What if you aren't?"

Oliver looked at him, then away.

Henry looked around. "I don't know the way without you."

Oliver shook his head. He pointed at the sky. "See the North Star?"

Henry nodded.

"All you gotta do is keep it to your left shoulder, okay?" Oliver said. "That's all you gotta do, man, and you'll be home."

Henry was starting to panic and cry. Oliver wanted to say something to comfort him, and maybe he would have, but just then, there was a rustle through the trees. A twig snapping. Then another. Oliver found enough energy to grab Henry and pull him down into the stream, but his broken leg gave out and he collapsed into the water. Henry was quick enough to pull him by the shoulders under the mess of tree roots. They hid. Oliver's leg throbbed and his throat was so tight he couldn't even cry out. The cold murky water lapped at their chests and they kept their chins up to avoid getting any in their faces. Listening. Trembling. Groans came closer. Right on top of them — dead bodies stumbling down the bank and crashing into the water. One. Two of them, stumbling on through and climbing out the other side.

Finally, they thought it was safe, and were going to climb out, but another walker stumbled over the bank and they leaped back in horror. It lunged for Henry and Oliver shoved it away with his crutch, yanking Henry back. The other two walkers were coming back, he could hear them. They pushed back into the alcove of roots, their long, thickness acting like unsteady bars to a cell. Rotten fingers thrashed for their chests and faces. One had Henry by the shoulder. Another had Oliver by the hair. The third was being kept back by his crutch. He saw two bright headlights again, pulling up not far away and a shadowed, blurry silhouette running towards them.

"Help!" he yelled, no option left.

"Help us!" Henry screamed, too. "Help us!"

There was torchlight.

"Please!"

"Help us!"

The figure stumbled down the bank, crashed through the water, and took out all three walkers. There was crying and hands grabbing and then Oliver fell into Carol's arms. She held him and Henry close and tight and breathless.

"I'm sorry," Henry cried. " _I'm sorry!_ "

"It's okay," she sobbed. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She let go of them and Oliver sat back in the water, exhausted, making inhaler motions with his fingers, and by some divine luck she had brought one. He took it. She was crying hard and grabbing him and Henry close. "I was wrong," she said. "You can survive. I was _wrong._ "

* * *

Back at Hilltop, Carol helped Oliver out of the truck. Henry ran on ahead and jumped into Ezekiel's arms. Michonne came out of Barrington House. She ran over and held Oliver very quietly, then let go. She looked at Carol, confused.

"Morgan left me, earlier in the day," Carol explained.

Michonne frowned, then nodded. She touched Oliver's elbow and said, "I'll take him to the infirmary. You should check on Henry."

Carol nodded and they went separate ways. At the infirmary trailer, there was dry blood on the step and inside on the floor and walls. What happened last night had already explained on the drive back; that people got sick from the Saviors weapons. That they turned and turned more. Almost half were dead.

"Tara lived," Michonne said once she'd finished cleaning his foot, now half way through re-dressing his cast.

"How?"

"She said Dwight did it, shot her. To save her."

"Why would he do that?"

"Why wouldn't he?"

"Okay."

"Rick's gone to look for the escaped prisoners," Michonne explained, putting things back in drawers since Oliver's leg was done now. "Morgan left with Carol to look for you guys — I don't know where he is now... but I don't think he'll be back."

"Okay."

Michonne stepped over. She stroked some hair out of his eyes and kissed his forehead and then they went outside together and joined the others outside the house. They'd lit a campfire, and Jerry and Henry were sharing apples by it. Carol and Ezekiel were holding hands and talking. Dianne was returning from the graveyard, her eyes red and wet. She sat with Alden. The stockade was empty. Oliver sat by the fire and watched it, rubbing his ankle until the pain passed.

Carol came over a little later and handed him his glasses. It was good to see things clearly again. She looked at something. Oliver turned too and watched the gate open, and Rick and Morgan walked up the driveway. They were both drenched in blood.

Henry met them. Morgan touched his cheek and said, "I killed the man who killed your brother. I did. I killed him."

Henry took his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"No," Morgan said. "No. Don't ever be sorry."

Rick went into the house. He didn't look at anyone, except the small, heavy glance he cast at Oliver when he noticed him. It was enough.

* * *

Later, when things were quiet, Morgan asked Oliver to give his armour to Henry.

"Can't you give it to him?"

"No, Oliver. I won't be here to."

"Okay..."

"Tell him I'll be okay."

"...Okay."

"Go to bed."

"Okay," Oliver said, not sure he'd see Morgan again.

He tried to sleep — in one of the bedrooms with Gracie asleep in a cot across from him and Maggie and Enid sleeping in the four-poster. But he couldn't sleep. His leg hurt too much. He sat up in his sleeping bag and pressed a thumb to his ankle, then Enid turned over to look at him. In the dark, she looked like an actress in an old, black-and-white film.

"Sleep," Oliver whispered, like it might work.

"You sleep," she said, because it didn't. Oliver figured as much; before, he could hear her blinking against her pillow for hours. "Aaron hasn't come back from Oceanside yet," she whispered, "it was days ago now. It was what I tried to radio you for."

Oliver looked at her. "I'm sorry... Carl — It had only just happened. I... couldn't..."

"It's okay," she said. "I understand."

She watched him.

"Did you read your letter yet?"

He shook his head, casting a glance at his things, which, after being brought up here, had become a little mixed up with Aaron's. Still, it didn't take him long to find Carl's hat buried under it all, his letter still tucked inside.

"Do you want to?" Enid asked.

Oliver sniffed and nodded and Enid climbed out of bed and shuffled down next to him, facing away.

"I won't read it," she said. "I just... don't want you to be alone."

"Thank you."

Oliver read it to himself. He didn't remember falling asleep.

* * *

 **Notes:**

You'll read the letter next. Just buying more time so I get it right. Also, I just got done reading _The Road_ and you can probably tell I liked it from the style this chapter was written in. I'm still too dazed over how good it was to tell if the style mimicking is too obvious, so I'm sorry if it was distracting. I hope I still kept true to Oliver's character and the vibe of the show etc. (tbh I wouldn't even think so hard about it if I hadn't been vigorously trained to think about these things for the past few years, but hey, I'm still learning.)

Happy reading.


	13. Carl's Letter

Another update in the same 24 hours whoop tbh I just want season 8 to be over lol

* * *

 _For after._

 _Oliver, I have this hunch that when it comes time to say goodbye, you're not going to want to talk much. And I think you might start to feel bad about that, so to let you know it's okay, and that you shouldn't feel bad about it, I'm going to write it all out now — everything we would have talked about, as if you're sitting here in front of me. Or... I guess as if I'm sitting in front of you. I hope it helps._

 _Back at the prison, before I really knew you, I used to watch you in the library. Patrick mentioned that you went every morning. And you did. You would read and I would see you through the shelves. Maybe that's weird of me. Maybe I should have just been brave enough to talk to you... I'm glad I finally was brave enough, after a while. I'm glad that you were my friend. You know that day we listened to music together for the first time? And you put on that song about giving everything up just to do it again. Well I would do that for you — I would give up everything just to know you all over again. And I wouldn't change any of it. Not the farming or storytime or the hospital or even the string beans. Do you remember that night in the pig pen, when you held my hand... or I held yours — I can't remember. I guess I thought it didn't count. You'd said before, something about it all not counting. I don't know. I was an idiot... We both were. But I also remember the first time something did count. That morning when the world felt like it was on pause and you told me I was everything to you and I kissed you and I thought I was going to blow up. I love thinking about that._

 _What happened to me wasn't on the Saviors. It wasn't on Negan. Or Siddiq. And most of all... it wasn't on you, man. It just happened. But I don't want you to think it was for nothing either. It wasn't for nothing. My dad's going to tell you what it was for, soon... I really hope he does that. And, Oliver... be kind to yourself, after. You're going to blame yourself. You're going to feel sad — I hate that you're going to feel so sad. But remember everything else we've done together. How safe we felt holding each other's hand because we meant that much to each other and you'd sit by my side and tell me that I was your best friend and I believed you because I could see it all right there in your face._

 _I don't know what the next few days will be like for you. Maybe the Saviors win. Maybe we do. But I know you're going to live. You always do. Luckiest guy I know, remember? Just know that whatever happens, make it something you're proud of. After this is all over, know that everything you've done, and everything that happened, was for the people you love._

 _I like to think I'll see you again, one day. Until then, I love you, Oliver._

 _Carl._

 _P.S. You asked me what I wanted for my birthday. I've thought about it. And I want you to tell my dad about the owl sculpture._

* * *

 ** _Notes_**

'When Kind Lear dies in act five, do you know what Shakespeare has written? He has written, 'He dies.' No more. No fanfare, no metaphor, no brilliant final words. The culmination of the most influential piece of dramatic literature is, 'He dies.' Now I am not asking you to be happy at my leaving but all I ask you to do is to turn the page and let the story begin.'  
— Mr. Magorium

 _Quote brought to my attention by **Mr. Totally Drama**_


	14. Worth: No More Talk

_Screw it here is another one._

* * *

After sleeping late into the next morning, Oliver was at the stables for most of the afternoon. His leg prevented him from doing much chore-wise, but he still got a little done — Maggie even caught him attempting to climb on Roan's back at one point, and told him not to, even though, as she left, she dropped an apple-box into the pen. Oliver waited until she was gone and used the apple-box to boost himself up. It hurt, but it was worth it to sit on Roan's back for a few smug laps around Barrington House; in which Maggie shook her head and grinned up at him. He kept Carl's letter close and read it again and again. Sometimes it would make him very sad, and other times it made him feel very peaceful, but most of the time he just felt something mixed between the two.

At some point in the day, Gregory returned from the Sanctuary with a letter from Dwight, looking very worn-out. Maggie dragged him back into the stockade. And at another point in the day, Oliver noticed Carol watching him from the fence. He wasn't sure how long she'd been standing there. He'd been sitting in the grass for hours, watching Roan and four other mares graze together.

"Hey," he said, getting up.

"Hey." Carol squinted at him. "Daryl and Rosita aren't around. We think they've gone to the Sanctuary."

Oliver crutched over to her. She took his arm while he climbed over the fence, but he stood on his own. "Are we going after them?"

She shook her head.

Oliver frowned. "Did you... come here just to tell me about Daryl and Rosita?"

"No," she admitted. "You just... looked peaceful in there—"

"Oh. I was just..."

"—I didn't want to drag you away—"

"No, I mean..."

"—or disturb you."

"It's okay," Oliver said. "You didn't."

She nodded and sighed.

Oliver wasn't sure what to say, so he waited for Carol to start first.

"Oh," she said. "Yeah. Michonne's looking for you."

* * *

A little while later, Oliver was sitting quietly in the eagle truck's passenger seat, reading Negan's letter from Carl, while Michonne drove him out to deliver it. The signal on the walkie-talkie wasn't very strong, so they had to drive to a deserted town close enough to the Sanctuary but not close enough for them to know they were there. Over the static, they could hear Saviors occasionally chatting about their jobs or other Saviours; mostly the escaped ones.

Finally, Michonne drove them up through a parking lot building, to the roof, and they sat in the car for a while. The sun was warm and bright, and some birds were bickering over a dead mouse on a roof over from them.

Michonne broke the quiet.

"Before we left the sewers, Carl told me..." She inhaled, then started over. "He told me he didn't want me to be sad, after, that he didn't want me to be angry. He said I had to be strong for you and Rick and Judith, and for myself."

She wiped her face.

"I brought you out here with me because I think this is a good idea. Whether it works or not, this is what Carl wanted. And I think you'll find some strength in that. You can still say no, if you don't want to do it..."

"I want to," Oliver said. He looked at her. "I want to."

She nodded. Her eyes were wet.

Together, they got out. Oliver went to the railing at the edge of the roof and sat on the floor, while Michonne kept watch nearby. She smiled at him.

Oliver took a deep breath.

"Negan," he said into the receiver.

There was nothing.

He tried again: "Negan, it's Oliver."

Again, just static.

"I'll do this all day, guys... Put him on."

And they did.

 _"Oliver!"_ Negan cheered through the radio-waves. _"Damn, what an unpleasant surprise. Correct me if I'm wrong, but the last time I saw you, you cracked me over the head with a guitar."_

"It was a ukulele."

There was a space of quiet. Oliver pictured Negan's mouth twisting into a grimace but tried not to get too cocky.

 _"Why don't you put Rick on the phone,"_ Negan said. _"Let the big boys talk."_

Oliver thought that was a bold thing to say for a man who didn't show up to his own battle just a day ago, but chose not to say so. Instead, he said, "I'm not here to do that. I'm here for Carl."

 _"Hmm. Rick told me what happened,"_ Negan said. _"I was sorry to hear it."_

Oliver inhaled. "Yeah. Well... Carl wrote us all letters, before... He wrote one for you. I'm just here to deliver it for him."

 _"Hmm. Go ahead, kid. Just know, I won't promise not to kill the messenger."_

"Whatever, man," Oliver said, not sure if he was calling Negan's bluff or simply dismissing the risk in its entirety. Regardless, he unfolded the letter and read: " _'Negan. This is Carl. I was helping someone. I got bit. We didn't even have to be doing what we were doing... I was just helping someone, and now I'm gone. You might be gone. Maybe my dad made your people give you up and he killed you — but I don't think so. I think you're still around and you're working on a way out. Maybe you got out. Maybe you think we're a lost cause and you just want to kill all of us._

 _I think you have to be who you are. I just wonder if this is what you wanted. I wanted to ask you... I wish I could have. _

_Maybe you'll beat us. And if you do, there'll just be someone else to fight. The way out is working together. It's forgiveness. It's believing that it doesn't have to be a fight anymore. Because it doesn't. I hope my dad offers you peace. I hope you take it. I hope everything can change. It did for me. Start over. You still can._

 _Carl.'_ "

Oliver folded the letter and waited for a reply.

 _"All this,"_ Negan told him, his voice like venom, like he wasn't talking to Oliver at all but Carl himself. _"There is no getting out of it now. I wouldn't accept your surrender if you came to me on your knees. Because winning isn't about beating you. Winning is about killing every. Last. One of you. That. Is starting over... I never wanted this. Rick made this happen. You tell him that... No more talk."_

The line cut out.

Oliver tore up the letter and let it blow across the roof, off through the breeze and down into the streets. Michonne helped him back to the truck. They didn't speak for the journey back to Hilltop.

* * *

 **Notes**

Sorry for so many updates. Just really want this season out. Next one up in a little bit. Hope you enjoyed.

Happy reading.


	15. Wrath: The Way Carl Wanted

_Another chapter today! Last one of season 8!_

 ** _If you read any part of this junk, read the end (anything beyond the sun symbols), I beg._**

* * *

"Wimp."

Rick turned as he exited Gracie's room, frowning. "What did you say to me?"

"I was just... I meant, well, you've been sleeping all day long after last night. I was out there, too, with a broken leg, _and Henry_... err, it was a bad joke... I know you went through hell... forget it." Oliver rubbed the back of his head with his hook. "Sorry."

"No need for that." Rick huffed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Just heard you wrong, is all. It's okay."

"Did Michonne already tell you," Oliver asked, "about what Negan said?"

Rick nodded. "It's why today's happening."

Oliver sighed, and Rick held him, and then he walked away. Carol was leaving the house and Oliver joined her, crutching alongside. Henry caught them as they left the porch.

"We're going to beat them today," he said.

"We are," Carol said.

"And when we do, will you come back to the Kingdom?" Henry asked. "I won't run away again."

She looked at him and then she looked at Oliver. "Maybe..."

* * *

Rick, Maggie and Ezekiel had all their soldiers on the front lines, which was somewhere east in a big field on a hill marked X on Dwight's map. Those who stayed at Hilltop spent whatever time they had left getting ready to evacuate before the Saviors came for them. Once Oliver was done packing his, Rick, Judith and Michonne's things, he went looking for Enid and Judith, and found them outside, looking at the horses.

"Figured we have enough time," she said.

Oliver stood next to her and put his arm around her shoulders, hook trailing in her hair, and they watched Roan step over to the fence to greet them. He put his ears back moodily and snapped his teeth, then got over himself and let Oliver rub under his long, ashy chin. Enid and Judith had already stepped back.

"Hang tight, dude," Oliver told the horse. "I'll see you again."

He followed Enid and Judith inside the house, where they stayed for a little while. Gregory was allowed in, but he ended up saying something to Tara and Bertie about their attitude towards him, so they locked him in the office.

"SAVIORS!"

Everybody got whatever they needed and moved quickly to the escape hatch, making it out and into the trees in time. Gracie didn't stop crying. Bertie had under Oliver's arm, helping him keep up.

"Keep going," Tara said. "To the rendezvous point. The others should already be there."

"Hold up!" Alden said.

"What's going on?" Enid asked, doing her best to coo to Gracie.

"I'm gonna try and slow them down. Look, they can hear her from New Jersey. Go," Tara said. "Go!" They did. Oliver heard the explosions but he and the others couldn't go back to help. Then, in a few more minutes, Tara and a few who stayed to help returned, bringing with them Aaron and almost all of Oceanside, too:—"Arron, are you okay?" "Yeah. Yeah. We're fine. Come on. Keep going." After that, things slowed down. The others on the front line weren't at the rendezvous point until much later than they'd said, but eventually, finally... they came through, too.

Oliver didn't quite take it in. He heard what people were saying. How Dwight was found out; fed the wrong information right before he sent it off, and that the false information allowed the Saviors to ambushed everybody. How Eugene sabotaged their guns and every Savior who shot was busted up with shrapnel. How it saved everyone and that was how they won. People kept asking what they were going to do now but nobody seemed to know the answer right away. Then Rick walked up to Oliver, his hand bloody and his face very old and tired. He looked Oliver in the eye and said, "It's over."

"It is?" Oliver asked.

Rick nodded, tears streaking. He pulled Oliver into him and cried and Oliver stared into the faux on his coat collar.

"Are we going home now, sir?"

"Yes, son... we're goin' home."

"Okay."

And they went home.

❂ **:** ❂ **:** ❂ **:** ❂

After fighting for so long and losing so much, it was almost anticlimactic, reaching their goal, except the suddenness of it was overwhelming. As time passed, Oliver found himself alone in the graveyard a lot. Wildflowers would sprout around occasionally and he would collect them and put them under Carl's cross, and Mikey's, and Ron's, and Sam's, and so on. He would sit in the dirt, then lay in it and sometimes he would fall asleep in it until someone came and got him, or more often, he simply woke up and went home by himself. One night Scab found him. He hadn't seen her or her kittens since the explosions. She was alone. Oliver scooped her up, very carefully, and held her, and she let him, and he cried. It was strange for him to know that a moody cat was in just as much pain as he was.

Days rolled over themselves. Weeks. Months. Oliver felt stuck in time for most of it, like he was being left behind. But sometimes he felt very present, like when he was training the horses, or taking care of Judith, or visiting the Brownstone apartment, where, after a time, he found himself almost more than he found himself visiting the graveyard — it was always dark inside, especially down in the basement, where the cell was located, and it always smelled of sick, stale things.

Oliver lit a candle on a small plate and leaned on the stair-rail as he descended, supporting his limp. He occupied the single, wooden chair in the room and set the candle down in front of himself on the floor, then sat there for a few minutes, watching the flame. He thought of the first time he did this, months ago, glaring down the barrel of his gun instead of down at a flickering candle, how underwhelming it felt, how angry...

 _"Oliver... Wait... Step back."_

 _"I have to, Rick... You're wrong — Carl... He was wrong."_

 _"If we kill him, Oliver. We'd be no better than he is. We'd be worse. He let me live when he had the chance to kill me, to kill all of us — he let Carl... live. You have to trust me on this... Taking someone's life, it's what we did when we had to do it. But things are different now. The rules are changing."_

 _"He killed people, and you're just going to let him get away with it? He can't live with us — not the way Carl wanted."_

 _"No. He can't. He won't... He'll be punished for what he did. But we're gonna do it in a civilised way..."_

Ever since, nothing had really changed, but sitting there in front of the cell was familiar to Oliver, at least — it was safe, and it was easy.

"You gonna talk," the cell's occupant asked, "or just sit there thinking?"

"I'm not thinking of anything," he told the candle.

"The fuck do you mean you're 'not thinking of anything'? Every second of your life is spent thinking. If your heart's beating in your chest, throwing blood all up in your brain, you're thinking _something_. Come on, a healthy young Italian like you... what's on your mind?"

Oliver sighed, then looked up.

"The human nose can remember over fifty-thousand different scents," he explained, "it's nothing compared to dogs or horses, even rats, but it's still disappointing to me that at least four of the scents I can recognise now... come out of _you_."

"I... what? Four? Hold on, I can work this out. Piss and shit, right? That's two. And sweat? Yeah I guess it's pretty stuffy down here. But, hey, that's only three."

"More than just piss comes out of your dick, man."

"Oh... Wow! You can smell _that?!_ "

"Sometimes. When it's stale. Yes."

"I... well... _fuck,_ kid, I was not expecting that."

"Well, you asked."

"Ha! I did. I did. Anyway, how'd that party go the other day? You mentioned you weren't feeling keen on it, being around so many people and all."

Oliver shuffled, scooting his chair a bit. "Fine. Guess. Drank too much. Got high. Some girl tried hooking up with me."

"Tried?"

"I left."

"Why? Pecker too sloshed?"

"I just didn't want to have sex with her."

"Hm. Who was she?"

"You don't know her."

"Well, that happens when you're an imprisoned criminal."

Oliver exhaled. "Name's Anna."

"The Heapster? Ain't she a little old for you?"

"No. Not her. That's Anne."

"Right. Anna... Josh's sister?"

Oliver looked up from the flame and nodded.

"Wait... Alex Coopers' girl."

"M-hm."

"This why you got into that fight the other day? 'Cause you like Alex Coopers' girl."

Oliver shook his head. "I picked a fight with Coopers because he was hurting her. I think Anna just... took it the wrong way. I didn't ask her for anything, she just..."

"Ah, poor girl probably just doesn't get enough attention from her pa's all. Don't hold it against her."

"I didn't. I don't care."

"Hmm. Hey, I thought you were meant to be leaving sometime soon. That not happening anymore?"

Oliver sighed and shrugged. "Rick's been busy," he said. "I'd go without him, but... he made me promise — I think he wants to make sure I get there safe."

"He does seem a little overprotective. But, you know, not that there's anything wrong with that, given what happened to his boy..."

Oliver steeled his face.

"I suppose you must remind him a lot of Carl."

"I suppose," Oliver replied.

"Not that there's anything wrong with that either. Rick probably finds it comforting, after this long. How long now, a year? Two?"

"A year," Oliver said. "And a half." He shook his head again when the air got too miserable. "Rick can be protective," he added. "It doesn't bother me, as long as he lets me do my own thing."

"That's good, that you can do your 'own thing'? Scouting. Hunting. But it's horses, right? You like those best. And they're mighty useful nowadays. I hear them clip-clopping around outside all day every day."

Oliver didn't reply, even though he was expected to.

"You're doing good, kid," he was told. "You've got the whole world ahead of you."

"Maybe."

Oliver reached forward and retrieved the burning candle.

"I want you to know, Oliver... I really appreciate our little talks. It... really breaks up my days. Helps me... mark time." Oliver was leaving for the staircase. "I think they're good for you, too — having someone to talk to."

"Sure," Oliver said. "I'll try to come back tomorrow."

"Wait... before you go."

Oliver glanced back and Negan grinned at him through the bars of his cell, his over-grown, earnest face lit up by the dim, jagged candle-light.

"After all this time," he said, "all these talks, things we've shared. The things we've _cried_ over. Do you still wanna kill me?"

Oliver watched him.

"Yeah," he said. "You know I do."

Negan's grin disappeared and shadows hid his eyes. He leaned close to the bars. "Don't insult my intelligence," he said, his voice low and gritty and normal again. "If I'd known your answer, I wouldn't have bothered to ask."

Oliver shrugged and turned away and began climbing the stairs.

"I thought we were _friends!_ " Negan shouted after him, but Oliver had already shut the basement door behind himself and left the Brownstone apartment.

* * *

 **Notes:**

Oliver's 18 now, I'm pretty sure. We'll have to see how season 9 goes. I'll let you know!

Took a few scenes from the comics: issues 121 (beginning scene) & 126 (Oliver/Carl trying to kill Negan) & 128 (end scene). Also despite Oliver's actions I'm very team Rick on this with the whole 'let Negan live or not' dealio — death of the author and all that; Oliver's a lot like me, but not _a lot._ What kind of fucking moron sleeps with socks on, amirite?

P.S. I'm a little bit torn on whether I want to follow the show or the comic-based route. Any suggestions are greatly appreciated? See you in season 9. Thanks for watching my words do the writey thing.

 ** _Edit: To do with the book I'm writing. Any of you deaf or hard of hearing or know someone who is and can give me any advice? Please feel free to contact me as the main character in the story, Kes, is deaf. I'm doing a lot of research but anything helps. Thanks._**

 _Insta: gaellikestoswim  
Tumblr: notmuchmoretosay  
Twitter: notmuchmore2say_

Happy reading.


	16. Soon

**_Changes to the previous chapter since its first publish:_**

 _1\. Oliver is 18 years old, not 21, oops._

 _2\. In the conversation with Negan in the cellar, he and Oliver establish a distinction between Anne (the Heapster) and Anna (the girl who tried to sleep with Oliver), because I thought their names were too similar and wanted to be clear._

 _3\. It's been about a year and a half since the war. My estimates are that in this story, the war ended in spring 2013 (when Oliver was 16yo) and it is now winter 2014 (and he is 18yo)._

 _4. **It is not yet season 9,** but the in-between stage of 8 and 9 — Oliver's got some stuff to do first._

* * *

A cold, early breeze came in through the window, billowing the curtain. Oliver laid there for a while, listening to a flock of birds fly nearby and watching their shadows flitter through the sun light, then he sat up and rubbed the morning ache away from his left shin. He glanced around his apartment. The walls were bare and the furniture was symmetrical and the winter air was cold in his nose and chest. His glasses and ankle brace were sitting on the bedside table and he put them on, then took his inhalers and popped a few calcium pills — the latter's container decorated with post-it notes reading: _'remember me!'_. He stood up and walked across his bedroom into the en-suite. He peed. Then, at the mirror over the sink, he pushed his long, messy hair out of his face and brushed his teeth. His prosthetic was hanging on the back of the door and he untwisted it over his shoulders on his way back to his room to got dressed.

Still with some time before morning chores, Oliver went to Rick and Michonne's place. He crossed the lake, nodding or waving to a few locals who were already up and enjoying their mornings on their porches. Rick and Michonne's door was unlocked, like always, so he went inside and made bread and butter and waited for someone to come down. He betted on Judith first, but it was Rick.

Greying now, with a buzz-cut and a grown-out beard, he entered the kitchen, groaning and rubbing his face. He didn't notice Oliver as he opened the empty breadbox, so Oliver cleared his throat. Rick glanced at him, chuckled, and shook his head.

"You can't eat at your own apartment?"

"No food."

"We have a storehouse."

Oliver shrugged, chewing. "Was headed over after this to get more for all of us. Plus, wanted to talk to you about something. _The_ thing..."

Rick groaned again and rubbed his neck in that way of his. "Not now, okay?" he said. "Look, I gotta run. They're probably already waiting for me."

Oliver watched him, mouth full. He forced a shrug.

"Hey," Rick said —he must've felt guilty— gathering his things. "Uh. Did you clear up that mess with the Coopers' son... is it Alex?"

Oliver shrugged again. "Better if we just avoid each other."

Rick _hmm_ ed and took a peach. "Getting in too many fights, Oliver. Someday you'll need someone's help, and they won't give it to you."

"Doesn't matter. I'm leaving soon anyway."

Rick just inhaled and bobbed his peach about in his hand, like his arms wanted to say something but his mouth just hadn't caught up yet.

Oliver took the first leap: "Rick?"

"Yes?"

"Did you postpone going to Hilltop on purpose? It's just, it's important to me, and... you know, you don't have to come with me. I can go on my own. I've ridden farther before."

"Your leg."

"Is healed — more or less. Rick, I can do it. You let me hunt. You let me train. But anything more than ten miles and you shoot me down, every time."

"I know," Rick said. "I know. Look, we'll go together soon. I'm overdue visiting Maggie anyway."

"Soon. You always say 'soon'. You keep saying it. _When's 'soon'?_ "

Rick inhaled. "Want to walk with me?"

Oliver did want to, but he shook his head anyway and avoided looking him in the eye. Instead he thumbed towards upstairs. "Gonna say hi to Judy, and make sure Michonne doesn't want anything from the storehouse before I go."

He peered down at his wrist, tracing with his hook where there was a small, blurry tattoo of a pair of deer antlers; something Tara did for him several months ago while she was touching up her own fading Roman numerals.

He looked up at Rick. "I'll see you tonight, sir."

"Okay." Rick nodded and left.

* * *

After getting done at the storehouse, Oliver did chores at the stables. At some point Josh came along and waited for him to finish so Oliver could teach him horseback riding. Josh was a tall, gangly, fourteen-year-old who had a wide mouth and an afro. He didn't know about his sister's exposement and he didn't need to.

"You really chopped his ear off?" was one of the many questions he asked as Oliver tethered Roan at a hitch post, and Oliver nodded and rubbed Roan down with straw. Josh's mouth fell open. "Oh, wow!"

He reached out.

"Oh, Josh, you might not want to pet him, he..." Too late. "...bites."

Josh jumped back with a gasp, clutching his knuckle. Oliver grabbed a first aid kit from the shed and handed a band-aid to him.

"Thanks," Josh said, tending to himself. "Gosh, you just had those around. You're so great. Even my sister says so now. She used to think you were so tight someone could put coal up your—"

"Oh, man, I... really don't want you to finish your sentence."

"Oh. Um. Okay. Anyway, I never thought so. And after the whole thing with Alex, she finally thinks you're cool too. She says you helped her realise how badly he was treating her."

"Okay."

"So, what do I do? Just jump up from here?"

"You haven't put a saddle on him yet."

"I see you riding without a saddle sometimes."

"Yeah but you've never sat on a horse in your life. You need a saddle, man." Oliver helped tack up, teaching as he went. Once Josh was up on Roan's back, Oliver took him around the paddock slowly.

"How do you do all of this with one hand?" Josh asked, steering with wide, exaggerated arm movements.

Oliver shrugged.

"Gosh," Josh said, as if he'd learned something from the shrug. He had his arms up a little too high so Oliver reached out and lowered them, adjusting Josh's fingers, then letting him do it himself. "This is fucking amazing."

Oliver patted Roan's shoulder, guessing Josh must've felt pretty grown-up cussing around him. Maybe because Oliver was one of the older kids around here and Josh thought that was cool, except Oliver didn't know if he lived up to that. He was at an odd kind of in-between stage of being a kid and being an adult and he always felt unprepared, like everybody else just constantly had a better handle on life than he did.

"I wanted to do this to impress Wendy," Josh explained. "She loves horses. She told me you were a good teacher. But don't tell her. I want it to be a surprise. By the way, how much for the lessons?"

"Can you get your mom to make me a beanie?" Oliver offered. "I lost my last one."

"Yeah. Totally!"

* * *

Later, Oliver was sitting inside with Judith waiting for Rick and Michonne to return from work. They'd been helping build a new house for Jadis, or rather, Anne. As well as that, they'd been organising moving supplies between Hilltop and the Sanctuary to prepare for winter.

By the look on Rick's face as he came in through the door, he knew what Oliver wanted. He took off his coat and asked Michonne to give them a minute, and she took Judith's hand and they went upstairs to get ready for dinner together. When they were alone, Rick asked Oliver, "Everything okay?"

"No. It's not. Not really." Rick just stood there listening, so Oliver kept talking. "I need to get out, Rick. I need to do more — do something."

"I know, Oliver."

"You don't!"

"Calm down and listen to me. I know what you're going through, okay? I see it." Rick watched him very carefully, his face still and calm. "But stop yelling at me. You're going to need your strength for tomorrow."

Oliver stopped mid-breath. He frowned. "W— What's happening tomorrow?"

Rick sighed, the corners of his mouth tipping up. "I know I've been stalling these past few weeks—"

"Months."

"Months. Fine. Yeah... I promised you I'd accompany you to Hilltop. Again and again. I'm sure it's been frustrating — eighteen years old, guilt tripped by some old man who's not even your father. I guess I... I guess it's just hard, letting you go. You're the last thing I have left of him. Of Carl. I was wrong to do that. I'm sorry."

Rick sighed.

Then he said, "That's why tomorrow, you and I are riding to the Hilltop and you're going to—"

"Thank you!" Oliver blurted, restraining the urge to leap up and hug him. He was so thrilled he'd probably knock him over. Instead he just mumbled a string of compliments in Italian at him, and finally finished with: "Thank you. So much." He hopped on one foot. "I'm gonna go pack."

"Sure, Oliver, just..." Oliver didn't hear the rest. He was already thundering across the street towards his apartment, limp forgotten.

* * *

 **Notes**

Lots from issue 127 and 128, if I'm not mistaken.

Thanks for reading even after these past several months with no new updates. Means a lot.

Happy reading.


	17. All Clear

**Dampish** oml thank you and oml rude he's 18! That's not old. Oh, man, or is it? Is 18 old to you? I'm 22! I must be decrepid... eh. Fine. I'm okay with that, I guess.

 **fandomismylife** hey! It's nice to hear from you. I hope you're doing well. Good luck posting. And really, thank you so much. Thankyouthankyouthankyou.

* * *

 _Calm down  
Deep breaths  
And get yourself dressed, instead  
Of running around  
And pulling on your threads  
And breaking yourself up_

 _If it's a broken part, replace it  
If it's a broken arm then brace it  
If it's a broken heart then face it_

 _Hold your own  
Know your name  
And go your own way..._

After dinner, Michonne accompanied Oliver back to his apartment and he showed her his neatly filled orange duffel-bag, laid unzipped on his bed.

"Look at this. I didn't know I had so much stuff."

"One duffle? How very _un-_ minimalistic of you." Michonne grinned at herself and then she sighed. "Your apartment will probably be let out pretty fast. Single apartments are a pretty high demand around here."

Oliver looked around, nodding with this weird nostalgic pull in his arms.

"But you know," Michonne added, "if you want to leave anything, feel free to leave it at mine and Rick's. We have room. And it might be a while. It might even be you visiting with someone one day, maybe even your own family."

Oliver smiled politely.

"But you will be back," Michonne finished.

She looked around the room and stopped when she caught sight of the Stetson hat collecting dust on his bedside. Oliver noticed. He left the room and got some water from the kitchen. Michonne followed him, leaning against the door frame while he chugged from the jug and glanced at the front door, hoping she'd take the hint to leave through it. She didn't.

"I never thought I'd see you here," she said.

Oliver frowned and kept chugging.

"I just mean, it's weird, where life takes you," she elaborated. "I never saw myself like this; riding horses, raising a daughter, raising you, and living with a katana on my back. You're growing into your place on this planet."

Just then, Oliver felt very much like sometimes people saw what they wanted to see in people, rather than what was really there.

"Oliver, this is going to sound terrible, but I need to tell you anyway." Michonne inhaled. "It's okay to move on. It's okay to try again. I lost my boyfriend. I lost my son. We lost Carl. But I have Rick, and Judith, and you. And even though I will never forget them — hell, I even used to talk to my ex-boyfriend sometimes... It's still—"

"Michonne," Oliver said. "Thank you, but... we really don't have to talk about this."

She sighed. "Just... know that you—"

"Really..." He had to work very hard at not sounding defensive. "Come on." He smiled. "Carl and I — we were kids. I'm over it. You don't have to worry about me."

She nodded and looked at the floor, then up again, as if changing a radio station in her brain. "Bet it'll be easier to contact Carol at Kingdom now, too," she said. "Now you'll be closer. Easier to visit."

"I hope so."

Michonne smiled. She stepped forward and kissed his head, told him to take care, then left his apartment. Oliver went back to his bedroom. He undressed. He took off his ankle brace and hung his prosthetic on the back of the bathroom door, then took a shower, and once out again, he dried off and crossed back through his room and laid along his bed, rubbing away the soreness in his shin.

Sighing, he looked up at the Stetson hat, reached out, and brought it over. It still had that smell to it. That smell of damp and dirt and aftershave. Oliver pushed it gently over his face and inhaled.

 _You talk to Negan?_

"Did yesterday, yeah."

 _He doing okay?_

"He's becoming... clingy. Never wants me to leave anymore."

 _Does that bother you?_

"No. I like it. He suffers. It's good."

 _What'd you talk about?_

"The party, and... your dad. Thinks I'm some kinda replacement for you."

 _Negan said that?_

"Well, no, but..."

 _You think it._

Oliver sighed into the Stetson hat, then got up and tucked it carefully inside his duffel-bag.

* * *

At some point the next morning while Oliver was gathering the last of his things and deciding if he should say goodbye to Negan or not, Josh came by his apartment with a folded item of dark brown fabric in his hand. "Phew! I thought you'd already left."

Oliver blinked at him, taking the fabric and unfolding it. "Oh man," he said, "your mom got it done already? But, uh... I'm leaving today. I never finished your lessons."

Josh shrugged. "Just make sure you do the next time you visit, alright? Maybe at the fair, if that ends up ever really happening."

"Deal, man," Oliver said, and put the beanie on.

Josh grinned. "Hey, my sister heard you were leaving. She was getting ready to come look for you as I left. She'll probably be by soon."

Oliver sighed. "Okay. Thanks."

Josh said goodbye and left. Oliver waited for him to be off the street, then grabbed his duffel and left quickly, too. He made a beeline for the Brownstone apartments but saw Rick already waiting at the front gate, so he headed there instead.

Rick, carrying a backpack, saw him coming and waved, then mounted a handsome, bay gelding that Oliver had found roaming in a nearby town a few months ago.

"Good?" Michonne, standing by, asked.

"Yep," Rick answered, so she passed him the rope of a stout, chestnut mule which was carrying the rest of their supplies. They needed a carriage, really. Hilltop had a home-made one but after searching months for a real one, they still hadn't found anything.

Roan, tethered to a post, whinnied and Oliver greeted him, calling him a "Good boy," as pale, red muzzle sniffed at steel hook.

"Mount up," Rick said. "We're wasting daylight."

"Hey, Oliver?" a guy around Oliver's age, called Virgil, cut in, letter in hand. Virgil and his sister Nora had stumbled across Oceanside only several months ago, then moved to Hilltop for a little while before moving down to Alexandria. His sister worked in the gardens while Virgil worked as a builder; a hard worker, too, and one of the few boys around who Oliver hadn't picked a fight with yet, or vice versa. "Think you could deliver this?"

Oliver took the letter and read Enid's name on the back and double took and then Michonne was hugging him. "Be good," she said. "Listen to Maggie. Look after Hershel. Remember your calcium pills, and your inhalers. And, for God's sake, try to stay out of trouble."

"Will," Oliver said into her dreadlocks. "Love you."

"I love you too," she said, standing back while he threw his duffel on Roan's rump and fastened it to the saddle.

"It'll be a few days," Rick told her. "I'll stay and help him get situated."

This was news to Oliver. News to Michonne, too, by the look on her face. Oliver was going to say something, but was distracted when he saw Anna rushing over. Anna was a timid, sweet girl, with dark hair and a flannel shirt on over a long dress. She all but threw a small, folded letter up at him, before walking away quickly without a word. Oliver avoided looking at anybody as he folded the letter and put it in his jacket pocket with Virgil's letter, and once he was up in the saddle, he and Rick rode out through the gate together.

Alexandria had a moat now, filled with spikes and barbed-wire and a few unremovable decaying body parts — even the road was dug out at a small section, only passable via a removable, sturdy, metal grid.

"Who's your girlfriend?" Rick asked as they crossed.

Oliver didn't reply, just shuffled in his saddle and checked the girth straps were tight enough, to which Roan ducked his head in a bothered sort of way and Oliver gave him more rein as compromise.

"All clear!" a yell came from above in the guard tower. "Safe travels!"

"Morning, Gabriel," Rick yelled back.

Tara was riding by on a broad-shouldered mare a similar colour to Roan only darker with a wide, white blaze down its face.

"All clear?" Rick asked her.

"Yep! Later, gators. Say hi to everyone for me."

"Sure."

And they rode on.

* * *

It was around an hour or so later that Rick's curiosity took over again. "Tell me about this girl," he said. "One of the new-commers, right? Josh's family adopted her? Ah, what's her name again?"

Oliver remained mute. His bad leg played up if he spent too long on horse-back, so he took it from the stirrup and stretched it around in the air for a moment, then let it hang limply at Roan's side.

"Oh, come on!" Rick insisted. "It's not like I want to read your love letter."

"It's not a love letter. She's barely sixteen. Jesus, Ritchie."

"Hey..."

Oliver kept his face still.

Rick sighed and shook his head, then laughed. "Well, how will we know it's not a love letter unless we read it?"

Oliver groaned and replaced his foot in the stirrup, and without warning nudged Roan on into a lope to keep several paces ahead of Rick's horse and mule.

"Is that really necessary?" Rick called after him.

Oliver didn't reply. He squeezed Roan on, ignoring the chuckles coming from behind him.

* * *

Another few hours passed, and Oliver had slowed Roan to only one or two beats ahead of Rick, close enough for his horse to keep trying to nip at Roan's hind-quarters if he got too close, which would cause Roan to make small, warning tail-swishes in its direction.

"Haven't seen anybody for a while, right?" Rick asked. "Or did I miss someone? Who's on today?"

"Scott for this section, as far as I know," Oliver answered. He did a once around in his saddle and didn't see anyone, then looked at Rick and said, "Lunch?"

"Sure. Let's find somewhere to stop for a while."

They found a neglected car not far away. Oliver climbed down, careful how he put weight on his lousy leg for a few minutes as he helped settle the horses. Rick rooted inside the supplies on the mule and handed Oliver a sandwich filled with ham and lettuce and tomato and pickles. Some kind of spicy mustard, too. And they sat on the car's rusty hood and ate and Rick never stopped grinning, waiting, so Oliver gave in.

"Her name's Anna," he said. "She's Josh's sister, yeah. They work in the orchard and she brings the horses apples sometimes. That's how I know her."

"Knew I'd wear you down. Tell me more."

"There's nothing to tell," Oliver said, deciding the thing about Alex Coopers would only add insult to injury. "Look, I don't—" Oliver put down his sandwich and pointed. "Rick, walkers."

"Wh—"

Oliver was already standing up, snatching his machete from his hip. The walkers weren't close yet, just now stumbling across the leafy road, so he paced himself.

"No," Rick said, "get your gun. But don't fire — there could be more around. Cover me just in case."

"Okay."

"Ready?"

"Yep."

"Good." Rick marched forward, steel-studded bat drawn. He bashed in the first walker's face but there were three more closing in fast.

"Rick!"

"Don't fire! I've got this!"

There wasn't time — Oliver shot two bullets and Rick wheeled around from the walker he killed as the rest fell dead at his feet.

"Sorry," Oliver gasped, and for whatever reason thought of Joe Jr's Barbeque Shack. "They were too close. I couldn't risk it."

Rick nodded and regained himself, breathless. "Didn't mean to scare you like that. I thought I could handle them." He huffed out. "Thanks, son."

Oliver felt his throat tighten, like a rope had tangled around his neck.

"I'm so sorry!" Scott galloped over from a deer path leading from the forest. "This area should have been clear and..." His face dropped. "Rick?! Oh, God. I'm so sorry!"

"Don't apologise," Rick hissed. "Look, just... tell me why the road wasn't clear."

"I'd just come through. I didn't see anything. When I heard the shots..."

Rick stared up at him, fists tight.

"I thought it was clear," Scott insisted.

"Well it wasn't," Rick hissed. "You cover one road! That should be no trouble! This road is like a main artery for Alexandria. You could have gotten us all killed!"

Rick paced, looking like some feral, angry animal, then he stopped and blinked a few times and became himself again.

"I— Look, it's alright, Scott." He sighed. "I just... We can't afford to mess up here."

"I was distracted," Scott said, shaking his head. "It won't happen again."

With a nod, Rick went back to the horses and he and Oliver mounted up.

"This road needs to be safe," Rick said finally. "If we can't work together to protect it, all of it, it all falls apart. Remember that..."

 _And everything, everything will be fine  
Everything..._

* * *

 **Notes**

Mostly just setup. Some foreshadowing. Hope it wasn't too slow.

Stuff taken from issue 129. Except I thought, from how Rick behaved in the show now that Carl's gone, his leadership methods seem somewhat humbler and less violent, so I didn't have him beat up Scott (who was just some random ((unfortunate)) patrolman in the comic) and just told him off a bit. Song was _Details in the Fabric_ by Jason Mraz and James Morrison.

Happy reading.


	18. Through the Downfall

**DampishPoet** Rude. Thanks anyway, a bunch lol And yeah, same. It's bittersweet that it won't last.

 **fandomismylife** yeah, i wish it was like that in real life. By foreshadowing I just meant stuff between Oliver and Enid really. Still not sure if I think they'd be good together. I'm going to see what the show does first. Thanks for commenting. It was lovely reading.

* * *

While on watch the next morning, sitting on an old shack roof with a pair of binoculars in his lap, Oliver watched a buck wander out from a covering of trees. It caught his scent and stopped and looked around until it spotted him, then went on at a trot over the hill. Oliver sighed, then looked up to the sky. Something in the clouds was turning the world into a red and pink painting.

Eventually he heard a yawn and felt the shack door being pushed open under him, and then saw Rick emerge from the building and nod up to him.

"You didn't wake me up for watch."

"Figured you could sleep longer," Oliver said, lifting the binoculars to his glasses and watching the countryside horizon. The stretching pastures. The hugging roads weaved between. The fresh, morning dew smell of it all swirling inside his nose and lungs. "I couldn't, anyway."

"You can get a few winks before we go."

"No, I'm good. I'll probably nap when we arrive. We're only a few hours or so away."

"Here, eat."

Oliver did, practically wolfing down his apple in one. The mule, Rick's horse and Roan were stood asleep beside the shack, ears twitching occasionally or eyelids flickering, but they quickly awoke when Oliver split his apple core into three and fed each of them a chunk, giving Roan the biggest bit. As they got going again, a large rain cloud closed in, turning the glowing, wine sky into a dark grey and purple overcast. Oliver and Rick looked up to it evenly. The rain still reminded Oliver of Carl, like it was a good omen or something.

As they drove, the drizzle turned to hard and heavy pouring and they protected themselves with tall raincoats to keep out the worst of it and as they finally got closer to Hilltop, Kal approached them on horseback through the gloom.

"Excuse me, friends!" he called out. "If you could — Mr. Grimes! We didn't know you were visiting. I'll ride in with you. Follow me!"

"No, it's okay. We'll manage. You can keep patrolling. Thank you."

"Oh. Alright, sir. Miss. Rhee is inside seeing in the cattle."

Rick nodded and they went on, and once there, they saw that Hilltop was thriving. Like Kal said, cattle were being moved back into the gates from pasture. Some kids were playing outside in the puddles. There was a driveway leading to the gates and gardens growing either side. Armed guards were on watch. The walls were taller, and they were building a mill and a water tower and a whole farm in and around Barrington House.

"Rick?" Maggie called out, walking through the rain and mud.

"Catch you at a bad time?" Rick asked as he and Oliver climbed down.

Oliver hugged her.

"Not at all," Maggie answered. "We've got a rather obstinate mare that I'm trying to saddle break, though." Oliver perked up. Rick caught this and smiled at him. Maggie went on. "Been a long morning. Never been more excited about rain."

"Where's Hershel? How big is he now? Can I see him?"

"Only about triple the size of when you last saw him. Brianna's watching him. I was going to check on him, if you wanna join?"

"Sure," Rick said.

"Oliver?" Maggie asked.

"Err... I was actually hoping I could have a look at that mare first," he said, "if you don't mind?"

Maggie eyed him up, a smile growing. "Sure. See what you make of her."

He let Rick take their things and then took a moment to organise the horses' and mule's ropes and reins —one in his hand, the second against his right inner elbow, and the third thrown over his shoulder— and led them towards the stables, catching Maggie ask Rick why they were here, and Rick as he began explaining, but not managing to hear much else.

At the stables, Oliver hitched the horses and mule to posts one at a time and went over to the round pen. Inside, the mare grazed at the weeds around edge of the pen. Oliver stuck his hand through to pet her and her muddy piebald flank twitched under his fingertips and she lifted her head and breathed softly into Oliver's face. Her ears were pricked forward, her eyes soft and blinking as rainwater driped along her half-coal, half-white face, and then, bored of him, she put her long neck down to graze again.

Just then, a guy Oliver didn't know took the horses and mule into three different stables behind the pen. He came out again and nodded at Oliver, squinting under the rain.

"The ashy one's yours, right?"

"Roan. He's called Roan."

"Original."

Oliver nodded in spite of himself. "Careful. He bites."

The guy smiled. "Doesn't everything?"

He seemed around Oliver's age, with long, wavy hair and earthy-brown skin. He set down some hay in the stables and filled up the horses' waters — Roan had his ears back and stomped his leg angrily, but was polite enough. Then the guy came over and extended a hand. Oliver was relieved that he wanted a fist-bump, not to shake.

"I'm Marco. I mostly do runs and supply deliveries, but, really I'm just a glorified stable hand."

Oliver felt his stomach sink a little. "Oh. Right. Err, I'm Oliver."

"Oh. I know you," Marco said, giving a small, assured nod. "Oliver Grimes. It's good to meet you."

"Hm." Oliver always felt ashamed hearing that, but it was too late to keep correcting people now. He turned to the mare and pushed his elbows into the fence. "Cool to meet you, too, man."

"Just got wind that you're working here, too."

Oliver wheeled his head around. "You did?"

"At the stables. Yeah. We need someone like you. Miss. Rhee said you're a natural with horses."

"So... she — Maggie really gave me the job?"

"As far as I heard a few minutes ago." Marco shrugged. "She asked me to come help settle your horses in, and I heard her talking to your father about it. She wants you to see what you can do with this one..."

Oliver turned back to the mare, sucking his lip as to keep a straight face.

"Good luck with her," Marco said. "She only has to see a saddle to go loco."

Oliver caught the Spanish accent but didn't feel polite enough to enquire about it, and instead said, "Thanks for getting the horses settled."

"Sure. Later, Grimes."

After a few minutes, Oliver left, too, to find Enid. She was probably home so he headed for the trailers, hugging his body from the rain, the mud thick and wet under his boots.

"Hi?"

He stopped and peered through the downfall at an open trailer door of which a patchy Collie leaped out and greeted him from. Bean tracked mud all up Oliver's coat. He looked at the trailer door again and Enid smiled out of it.

"Heard you were here. Well, I heard Oliver _Grimes_ was here."

Oliver snorted.

Enid powered on, and made a dramatic fake swoon, with her wrist up at her temple. " _Oh,_ Oliver Grimes! Survivor of gunshot wounds and walker bites, fearless co-founder and dark, mysterious protector of the new world order, what a privilege it is to be graced by your presence! To what do I owe this _fine_ occasion?"

Oliver laughed and shook his head. He got the letter from his jacket pocket. "I'm just trying to deliver this. To you. Virgil sent it."

He tried reading her face but like usual with Enid, it wasn't easy.

"Virgil?" she said.

"Virgil," he said. He couldn't help himself. "He and you?"

She frowned. "What? No. Why are you asking that?"

Oliver shook his head, thinking Rick had set him off: all this love letter talk — he was developing paranoia.

Enid narrowed her eyes, then smiled. "Actually, this is from Nora. His sister. She's asking for medication. She says Virgil has a seafood allergy and he's down to his last few EpiPens. Wants more just in case. Poor guy. Probably why they left Oceanside..." Enid laughed at herself. She looked at Oliver, then back at the letter and laughed again. "She must've sent this to me thinking I was this place's medic."

"Why would she think that?"

Enid shrugged. "I do some stuff. Guess she assumed it was my job when she saw me treating Earl's burn one time — second degree. He's the blacksmith, so..." She was doing that looking and laughing thing again. "I'll go get everything from the infirmary. Want to come?"

"Yeah."

"Just let me get my coat."

"Okay."

* * *

Later, some people got together and made a big dinner for everyone. Rick was there and so was Maggie and Hershel and Marco and Marco's blacksmith friend Ken and Ken's blacksmith dad, Earl, and mom, Tammy Rose. And Jesus. And Kal. Gregory. Even Alden, who'd stuck around instead of returning to the Sanctuary after the war.

Oliver sat at a table with Rick, Maggie and Jesus.

"Glad you got the job," Rick said. "I'm proud of you."

"Tomorrow morning I'll watch how you train the mare," Maggie said, "first thing. See how well you do with her."

"He's skilled," Jesus said. "I watched him train Ezekiel's stallion."

"You did?" she asked. "I heard it was wild before."

"It was," Jesus said.

Oliver wanted to burst.

Rick was nodding in a proud sort of way. He put a hand on Oliver's shoulder and said, "Maggie told me she'll help you find a place within the next few days. Your own trailer, maybe. Unless you would prefer to keep a room in Barrington House."

"I'd like my own trailer," Oliver said. "Think I'd prefer my own space."

Rick's smile was sad.

He changed subject as Enid came to sit down, though, with this look on his face like she'd reminded him of something. "So, have you read the letter Anna gave you yet?"

Oliver shrugged, feeling Maggie and Enid's eyes on him. Rick took the hint and went back to eating.

* * *

Later, while moving his duffel bag upstairs into his new, temporary room, he passed Enid who was sitting on the staircase with Bean.

"Want help?" she asked.

"Nah," Oliver puffed, stepping around them. "Got it. Thanks."

"Wanna hang out?"

"Sure."

She watched him go up.

"You brought a lot of stuff."

"A whole duffel. I know."

She frowned. "How... long are you staying?"

"For good."

"For good?"

"For good."

Enid smiled and turned away, hands on her knees. "Cool."

* * *

Oliver's room was one of the smaller ones in Barrington House. It had a single bed, a bedside table, a dresser, and a small balcony that overlooked the stables, the half-built water tower, and some of the vegetable garden. Oliver liked it. But he was going to like his own trailer more, he was sure.

Enid followed him up and watched him unpack some stuff like his medication, some books, and that jar of belongings he'd buried in the woods that day with Carl, still filled with Nell's notebook, his Nonno's deer carving, his parents wedding rings, Lizzie's broken knife, a yoyo, Lani's rainbow zebra note, and a small glass pipe.

Enid saw the notebook and asked to take it out. Oliver let her and set the open jar on the dresser. He pretended not to notice her cry as she read some.

"You can have it," Oliver offered, putting Carl's hat on his pillow, "if you want. I've read it a million times."

She didn't say anything, just shut her eyes and nodded.

When Oliver was finished, Bean was asleep on the rug and Enid was laid across the bed reading. There was a breeze blowing in through the open balcony doors, and the sound of people working and chatting down in the courtyard outside, and Oliver laid down and put his head on Enid's chest and she traced the antlers on his wrist with her fingertips and everything felt totally at peace for a while.

* * *

He must've fallen asleep. When he sat up, he was alone and he felt exhausted, but the sun was setting and he'd told the others he'd be down before dark. He went downstairs and found Enid, Maggie, Rick and Jesus out on the back porch. Hershel was curled up in Maggie's arms. Bean sitting with them.

Oliver stood with them all for a while, the sun before them, descending under the wall.

"Well done getting your job," Jesus said.

"Thanks."

"Unpacked?" Rick asked.

Oliver nodded.

Rick smiled at him.

"So, we're just watching the sunset?" Oliver asked, pulling a face.

"Yeah. Isn't it great?" Rick said, and Oliver stepped over and put an arm on his shoulder. The sky was gold and pale blue this evening, like the watercolour paintings tucked away in a box back at Alexandria.

Oliver sighed and nodded. "Yeah, it is."

* * *

 **Notes**

Little bits from issues 130 to 132. Like, really, some of you shouldn't give me so much credit for keeping this story interesting and all that. Feel a bit of a fraud. It's mostly all just comic arcs I'm taking inspiration from.

I also like the image of Oliver just casually leading two horses and a mule all at the same time with just his one hand.

What are your opinions on Enid and Oliver getting together? I'm honestly not all that into it and for now I much prefer writing them really really close. Like close enough that they seem like a couple but it never goes beyond platonic (except that one time lol). But yeah I'm interested in what you think. If you like. If you find it annoying. Anything.

Happy reading, guys.


	19. First Day on the Job

**MyDadsPancakes** lol. I liked Marco. I wonder if he'll be back.

 **DampishPoet** same really

 **fandomismylife** heh, I was more leaning to symbolise Carl but I agree that terrible CGI deer did make a larger impact. And thanks, I guess that's true. I just think I want to address how Enid used to have feelings for him at one point at some time in this fic, if it feels the right moment. If not though, eh. And thank you! I was sort of growing out of this fic but the time jump seems to have helped somehow. I really want to know how Michonne and Daryl got those X scars, and how I can encorperate that into Oliver's story, too. Later chapers especially have made me feel like I've been rekindled back into writing this story, like the old days.

Anyway, enjoy...

* * *

It was strange to wake up in a different room that normal. Even a tent canopy was more familiar, and it was still early — Oliver never usually slept for long. Instead he watched in silence as the greyish night sky slowly began to glow until the sunlight shone across the wall and travelled the room towards him. He'd left his balcony open during the night and the cold air made him shiver. He could hear chickens clucking outside and horses snorting occasionally, but other than that Hilltop was silent, until finally, when the sun crossed into his eyes and other people's voices could be heard floating around the house and outside, Oliver got up and carried his bedsheet around his shoulders across the room to shut the balcony doors.

He needed the bathroom. He grabbed his glasses and put on his ankle brace, then some jeans and a hoodie, then went to the upstairs bathroom—"Someone's in here!" He tried downstairs—"Gonna be a while! Try upstairs." He went back to his room and waited, sitting on his bed. Carl's hat had gotten a little smushed in the night so he smoothed it out and placed it back on his pillow. He looked at his duffel-bag, reached down and pulled the side-zip open. Inside was Anna's letter, his name written in cursive on the back.

He unfolded it...

 _'Dear Oliver,_

 _I want to apologise for what happened at the Party. We were drunk and I think you had been smoking too. I was still very Upset over breaking up with My Ex. And you'd been so kind to me, sticking up for me when he was mean in front of Everybody. And Josh looks up to you so much. I just though that if I went for it maybe you'd_ [She'd scribbled something out] _Maybe just talk. You hardly ever say anything when you're around me or our Friends, even with Josh, he says so. And I think that's why he likes you. I think that's why I Like you too, but in a different way. What I'm saying is, I'm Sorry I tried to sleep with you. I swear it's not something I do a lot. It's not something I've done ever, actually. And I wasn't really expecting to make you Sad either. I don't know why you were sad. I think that for as long as I've been Here you've never once looked at Anybody like how I wanted you to look at Me, and I think that's sad too.  
When I found out you were leaving I was Heartbroken. I hope that's not the last time you see me, or what you remember me by. I hope you'll be coming back to visit soon so that I can see you again. I'm going to miss you._

 _Please_ _write me back._

 _— Anna'_

Oliver folded the letter up and pushed it to the back of his dresser drawer. He found a spare pen and some paper and scribbled a few sentences he hoped seemed polite and non-confrontational, addressed it to Anna, then got himself dressed and eventually found a free bathroom.

Rick was downstairs, so Oliver helped him get ready to leave, and after a big hug Rick told him, "I'll see you in a few months. It'll go by in no time. I'll get someone to let Carol know you're here when the next bullet shipment is sent up to Kingdom in a few days, if you haven't visited her by then and told her yourself."

"Thanks. See you."

Rick lingered.

Oliver smiled. "Don't worry about me. I'm good."

"If you need anything, go to Maggie or Jesus, or Tara. They'll take care of you."

Oliver sighed. He nodded. "I will."

Rick climbed up on his horse and took the reins in one hand and the mule's rope in the other. "Hey, did you write back to that girl? I can deliver it — I'm already delivering some letters and packages for the others already."

Oliver hesitated.

"Look," Rick said, "I promise, I won't read it."

Oliver took the reply out of his pocket and handed it up, passively making up that:—"...she just wanted horseback riding lessons the next time I was in Alexandria."

"Oh, too bad," Rick said. "Maybe you can give out lessons at the fair, if and when we get it all organised, that is?"

"Maybe." Oliver shrugged.

"And I haven't forgotten about that owl, either."

Oliver nodded.

Rick nodded, too. "See you soon, son."

Oliver waved him off, standing there in the driveway alone while Rick rode out away from Hilltop, and then he went to work. After the rain yesterday, Hilltop smelled of petrichor. It gave Oliver this nostalgic sad feeling in his chest that made him think of bottled water from a friend and secret kisses pushed against barn walls — _"I just... really needed that..."_

He joined Marco and Maggie in mucking out all the stables, feeding and watering, and taking a couple of the horses to get shod at Earl's blacksmithery. In all the time Oliver had known Roan, the horse had never had shoes fitted, but Earl was gentle enough that he barely noticed the sizzling steel being nailed into his hooves.

Finally, when everything was ready, Oliver finally got to training the piebald mare a little before midday. She seemed particularly restless today and spooked when she saw Oliver's prosthetic hook, so he took it off. He usually did this in training anyway since horses didn't usually take nicely to getting accidentally whacked by hard, foreign objects — especially fresher, untrained horses, like this one. Oliver took the mare into the round pen and performed a join-up exercise with her and she took to it almost immediately; trying to turn in to him before he even wanted her to, so he'd have to drive her out and make her keep running circles.

Maggie watched from the fence.

Marco, spectating too, frowned. "What's he doing to her?"

"It's what they do to each other," Oliver explained, pivoting in the centre of the round pen to watch the mare run, mud kicking up behind her. "The dominant herd members drive the more submissive ones out of the herd if they aren't following the rules —punishment— then, when they learn their lesson, they're let back in. It's kinda like... convincing her she needs to trust me, that good things happen when she follows my orders."

"Sounds a little kinky," Marco commented.

Oliver snorted.

Maggie rolled her eyes.

The mare had her inner ear trained on Oliver and her shoulder leaned inward, head bowed low, and she began making smaller circles around him, ready to come in, so finally, Oliver stopped and turned away from her, and she slowed to a walk and moved inwards to him, meeting him in the centre of the pen with her muzzle tickling the back of his neck.

Oliver turned to her and rubber her forehead.

She blew in his face.

Oliver blew softly back.

"At-a-girl," he heard Maggie say.

Next, Oliver began getting the piebald familiar with her saddle. And she let him. Repetition was key. If she squealed and flinched away from him, he would drive her off again for not trusting her and redo join-up until she decided she did. Then finally, they were to a point that she was used to the saddle and Oliver was able to climb up onto her back from an applebox. She was stiff and nervous, so Oliver kept still and calm and cooed to her. Her black and white fur was warm and scruffy, growing its thick winter coat, and he ran his amputation along her neck and shoulder gently, rubbing off dried mud in clumps.

Oliver let the mare rest after that.

"Nice work!" Marco said. " _You_ just did in minutes what we haven't done in a week." He shook his head. "You do that with every horse you work with?"

"Most."

"Where'd you learn it?"

"Some book, and an old friend," Oliver said, wiping sweat off his face. His glasses were smudged so he polished them with his shirt.

Gregory, making his way across the courtyard, was clapping.

"That's pretty impressive," he said. "Why, just yesterday Maggie was up on its back getting knocked around all over the place — it's a wonder little Hershel's not drinking milkshake by now."

Oliver, Maggie and Marco grimaced. Oliver and Marco got on with work while Maggie spoke privately with Gregory, something about an election coming up to decide who was to lead Hilltop officially between the two. By the sounds of it, Maggie was in the lead and Gregory wasn't being a very good sportsman about it.

The conversation ended with Maggie walking away and calling Gregory a joke, and Gregory left standing there by the pen, stuttering and squeezing the back of his neck.

* * *

Later, Oliver, Maggie and Marco closed up the stables for the night. Marco went to the trailers while Maggie and Oliver went towards Barrington House.

"Good work today, Oliver. Really. That mare's gonna be ready for work in no time." Maggie rubbed his arm and went on inside and Oliver stood there on the porch, smiling up at the evening sunset.

"You smell like shit."

Oliver turned and saw Enid strolling over from the orchard.

"Wanna get dinner?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, picking manure out from his fingernails. "Let me shower first." And not long later, he met her in the foyer. He'd put on all clean clothes, brushed his hair, and put an effort into tying part of it up out of his face with a small clip that he hoped looked grown-up.

Enid looked great. Her hair was down. She wore a green tank top and some jeans, and for some reason her eyelashes looked longer.

"You didn't need to wait for me," Oliver said apologetically, hoping he didn't look as silly as he suddenly felt.

"As long as you take prettying yourself up? Sure I do." She smiled and stroked a bushy lock of his hair down the back of his neck. "Otherwise I'd be done eating already." She frowned and plucked a lonesome joint from behind his ear, then tutted and put it in his hand and he laughed and replaced it.

"You're asthmatic, you know?" Enid said.

"I'm celebrating."

She rolled her eyes.

They went and waited in line for food. Once served, Enid decided they should eat somewhere alone, and brought Oliver to a tree-hooded spot of Hilltop a few minutes' walk away from the main dinner crowd. She'd brought a picnic blanket.

They started their meal and joked around and laughed and then for a while it was very quiet between them. A nice kind. Oliver liked this part of Hilltop. It was calm and they could see the last bits of colour the sunset was making.

"I still think of him, when the sky's like this," Enid said, "his paintings?"

Oliver didn't reply. He just prodded his mashed potato. He frowned for a minute. Then asked her, "Do you remember that day in the woods, when we snuck out? Just you and me? The first time?"

She nodded.

He put down his plate and reached behind his ear.

"Mind?" he asked, putting the joint butt between his lips.

"Yes." She stood and Oliver thought she might walk away but instead she picked an apple from one of the trees and handed it to him. "Substitute — at least until I leave."

He smiled and took the apple and put the joint back behind his ear. He ate his food for a few minutes, then started on the apple.

"Do you remember what you said to me?" He saw her shake her head so he said, "You said: 'Its their world, and we're just living in it.'."

"Oh. Yeah. I remember."

Oliver looked at her. "You were right. I didn't realise it, but you were. _Are._ " Oliver took another bite from his apple, chewed. He sighed. "It really helped me. After everything — I never told you, but it did. It helped me not feel so afraid. It even helps me now."

Enid smiled at him. "You're such a wuss sometimes."

Oliver laughed. "Yeah, guess so."

"I won't tell."

"Cool."

"Hm. Cool."

* * *

 **Notes**

Stuff from 133 and 134 but not totally in that order. _The rest of this notes section is just horse related and I'm going to talk about it shamelessly so skip to the bold text if you aren't interested:_ The book Oliver mentioned is called _The Man Who Listens to Horses_ by Monty Roberts. I keep referencing Roberts' shit because it's just like the only thing I actually know a lot about, since I grew up with a very old nag and also managed to get a dumb diploma in horses a few years ago. Oliver's training technique was actually pretty controversial where I studied though, and in the equine community generally, I was told. I just think it fits Oliver's style; going at his own pace and making a bond with the horse first, instead of the more popular technique of 'breaking' a horse through other, less-patient means. Also I enjoyed the weird dominance thing, like how it sort of mirrors the way Negan treated his people back in the day, like, I like to think Oliver once had the thought that it was a good technique, just... you know... not on people.

 **Season 9 next.**

 **This book should have 26 chapters (I think) and then it will be a new story. Just so you know.**

Happy reading.


	20. A New Beginning, Part 1: The Carriage

**DampishPoet** ngl the scene where Maggie was breaking that black horse was so cringy to me. It was doing these tiny bucks and she was just growling at it and suddenly it just stopped and behaved perfectly like no that's not how you horse. Ugh I hate myself, ignore that. Thank you for the nice words lol

 **Guest** Ugh, that's such a nice thing to read. Blasé Oliver. Like if there's any way I want anyone to read him it's that way absolutely so thank you for picking up on that gosh. And yeah I hope so. I kind of want to open the next book right in the middle of that horror show. Like I want Oliver to be in a really fucked up position just to set off the story. Idk. It's either that or waking up to Jesus' music from Georgie :/ Thank you for the support. Please never mention the typo again. Or I'll die (:

* * *

 _Four months later  
_ _Spring 2015_

* * *

Over the winter, Rick had visited Oliver the few times there were shipments of bullets and supplies from Alexandria. Judith drew pictures and Michonne wrote letters. And Carol would visit, too, from Kingdom, or Oliver would visit her along with Jerry and his herb and Henry who always had another Aikido method to try out which Oliver would endure in good spirit along with another collection of bruises. Back at Hilltop, however, Maggie'd had a busy few months after winning her election, and for some reason Gregory had never been friendlier. Oliver had been focussing solely on work with the horses, building a good business from it, and he never did move out of his room in Barrington House either. He didn't really want to anymore.

As spring came, the snow and ice dissipated and was replaced by several rain storms that blew through Virginia like a stampede. One only a few days ago had been so severe that almost all Hilltop's crops were damaged and supplies were running thin. As a result Rick had radioed to plan a group run into D.C. to search a museum for a carriage and farming equipment, along with some seeds which Anne knew something about.

They travelled out and met in the city to get it done. Rick, Michonne, Carol, Ezekiel, Aaron, Jesus, Father Gabriel, Tara, Anne, Alden, Ken, Marco and Oliver rode their horses while Daryl rode his motorbike and Siddiq, Enid, Maggie and Cyndie took the mule carriage. The sky was cloudy but any winds had died alongside the latest storm, leaving the land wet and riled up with street signs on balconies or old telephone wires broken and draped across streets. Whole neighbourhoods were coated in mud and churned-up undergrowth and there were windows broken and walkers blown into treetops, all ripped up and slow as if the storm had traumatised them. Still, despite everything, the city was peaceful as they rolled through and parked before the Smithsonian museum.

Some of them stayed outside to look after the horses while the rest went in. There was one walker at the front door and a few more crawling about in the foyer. Easy enough. Otherwise, the museum was barren. Dust and paper everywhere. Some flattened tents. Pigeons crooning on the tops of pillars and in the tall windows and ceiling structures. Beyond the foyer were three huge archways all with long tapestries hanging down from them that read _'Natural History',_ _'Gallery of Fine Art'_ and the last was torn but Oliver could make out something about American History.

"Be safe," Rick said, and they split into two groups. Ezekiel, Carol, Michonne, Maggie, Cyndie and Daryl up into American History for the farming equipment and a carriage. Then Rick, Anne, Gabriel, Enid, Siddiq and Oliver down into the Natural History exhibit for the seeds.

They went into dark hallways blanketed by cobwebs and dust, and some way in Oliver caught Siddiq watching him, but he quickly averted his eyes from Oliver when they met glances, instead Siddiq found a large cobweb by his head particularly interesting and suddenly—"Siddiq!"—he was sucked under a canopy.

Rick grabbed his arms and pulled him back into their torchlights. Siddiq's knife was bloody. He scurried backward on his hands and heels muttering as a horde of spiders pooled out from under the canopy after him. Oliver held back a shriek and jumped back, too, then felt foolish so instead looked under the canopy. There was a dead walker laid spilling bugs from a sunken hole in its skull.

"Are you okay?" Rick asked.

"Yeah... Yeah — Thanks." Siddiq spent a moment smacking his arms and chest and legs. "Spiders. I don't like spiders."

Oliver stepped back and kicked the spiders off his shoes for good measure, which Enid grinned at, and they all left the area.

There was another walker wandering along the human evolution chart and Gabriel put it down right at the end and called it, "Intelligent design," and Anne laughed and said, "The evolution of man. I like it." They found the seeds in a separate room, stowed away safely in big, labelled, filing cabinets.

"Whoa," Oliver muttered. "This has gotta be every fruit, herb and vegetable on the Northern Hemisphere."

"You were right, Anne," Rick said.

"How'd you know to find seeds here?" Gabriel asked.

"My class, back when I was teaching. Found out they cultivated heirloom lines for the gardens, and they kept seeds on hand so they could rotate the crops."

"They made a doomsday vault without knowing it."

"We're grateful," Rick said. "The Sanctuary will be, too. Let's take the lot, get back, and see if the other's need help."

* * *

The others had found a boat, a horse-drawn plough, and a huge, two-horse carriage with pillars for a canopy shelter. Now all they needed to do was get it down to the ground floor, which also happened to be made of glass at the base of the stairs. Under it was a twelve-foot drop and a whole American History floor filled with hungry walkers.

They used ropes. Two people pushing from behind, another two manoeuvring from each side, and two more pulling from the front. They got the carriage across with just a few cracks, then the boat, then the plough — and then Ezekiel fell through. He dangled from his rope like a worm over a lake and the lake growled and grabbed. Daryl took some of them out while everyone else pulled the rope, and then Ezekiel was up, finally, and Carol pushed him against a pillar and kissed him and kissed him again.

Outside, they loaded the new carriage, tethered it to two horses, and got going. Daryl rode ahead on his motorbike, picking off any walkers who stumbled out into the road. Oliver was riding near the back of the group, with Alden, Marco and Ken. Ken was riding the piebald mare, which he'd taken to shortly after she'd finished training. In fact, today was both Ken and the mare's first outing together and they both looked pretty pleased with themselves — even Oliver got this feeling like he'd raised a child and was now watching it graduate college.

"Hey, Ken," Alden said at some point. "Marco here thinks he wants to learn the trade. Think your dad'll take on another apprentice?"

"I don't see why not."

"I can't tell if he likes me," Marco admitted.

"He's just quiet," Ken said. "Comes across as grumpy."

Oliver liked that about Earl. His quietness. It meant that Oliver could stand there at the blacksmithery keeping the horses steady while Earl shod them without having to worry about making conversation, whereas Marco always tried so hard.

Oliver said this, that Marco tried too hard, and Marco said, "You think so?" and Oliver shrugged.

"He just needs to get to know you first," Ken told Marco. "I think he'd appreciate the extra help. The Kingdom just assigned him this large shipment of scrap metal to melt down. Hell, shoeing these horses is a full-time job."

"If it makes you feel any better, I was pretty sure he hated me, too," Alden said.

They started talking about other things and Oliver stopped really listening because he overheard, behind him, Ezekiel propose to Carol. Oliver glanced back and watched Carol roll her eyes at the ring being held out to her.

"Zeke," she said, "put that thing away! It'll snag on everything, and I told you not to ask me that."

"I know."

"Especially after something like this."

"I know."

"And this is not happening on a horse."

Ezekiel laughed and told her he loved her, that he always would, and that he'd keep the ring until she was ready.

"Oliver?" Alden said. "What are you smiling about?"

"Nothing, man... Nothing."

Not long later, Rosita rolled up on her dirt-bike. She led them towards one of the main bridges, which, when they arrived, had been swept away by another storm and had taken the walkie-talkie reception booster with it. Rosita explained that two herds had merged into an already existing big herd called Sylvia, which they'd all been keeping their eye on for a few months, and that now it was even bigger.

"What about Route A?" Daryl asked. "That clear yet?"

"Still too close to the herd."

"We can get to Alexandria from this side," Michonne said. "Stay there 'til it passes."

"No," Maggie said sharply. "Route A's taken days to clear before. I need to get home to Hershel."

"Could take Route D," Carol said. "It's early enough in the day."

Rick nodded and turned from the bridge. "Keep an eye on the trade road in case anyone else tries to move," he told Rosita. "Gabriel, y'all can head back to Alexandria from here. The rest of us, we'll go to the Sanctuary or Hilltop, stay the night, and head on from there."

They headed back for the horses and carriage, leaving Rosita to write _'BRIDGE OUT'_ on a road sign.

"Take care. And get home safe."

* * *

Near dusk, an hour or so from Hilltop, the roads were getting muddier and the horses began to struggle pulling the wagons through, so everyone decided to stop for a while to let Rick ride ahead and see if it was better further up. He came back, shaking his head. Maggie and Michonne spoke with him about leaving the supplies here for a few days but the herd trampling it all was too big a risk, so they decided to swap out the horses.

Oliver helped Aaron with the horses from the big carriage and followed the others to a clearing further up the road, while Marco and Ken stayed behind with two mares who would take over on the main carriage.

While waiting, Oliver caught Siddiq watching him again, sitting alone in the home-made cart. Siddiq looked away. Shaking his head, Oliver marched over to him, climbed up, and sat in the seat in front of him.

"What is it, man? You're freaking me out."

"W— what?" Siddiq asked.

Oliver turned and frowned at him.

Siddiq gave up. He shook his head and wrung his hands. "I'm sorry," he said. "I... I just feel like crap, alright?"

Oliver turned away and watched the horses hitched by the cart.

"Look," Siddiq said, "you saved my life, alright?"

Oliver felt his eyes shift left to right.

"No I didn't," he said, glancing around. "You killed that walker yourself."

Siddiq shook his head. "Not today. Before. The day you and Carl found me. And... after everything that happened, I..." He stopped and took a breath like he'd run out of them. His eyes were wet. "Look, I know what I'm trying to tell you doesn't make any sense, but... it's just... oh, God."

Oliver didn't want to comfort him. He didn't want to ask what was wrong. He just watched his hand and prosthetic in his lap and waited for Siddiq to pull himself together.

"It was my thing," Siddiq said finally. "I took care of the dead. To release their souls. Carl. He helped me, for me. For my mom. And I let him." Siddiq moved seats so he could sit beside him and then suddenly he reached out and grabbed Oliver's hand and hook. Oliver almost shook him off, but didn't want to draw attention from the others, so he sat and stared and Siddiq stared back. "It was my fault, Oliver," he said. Tears fell. "It's my fault that he died."

He let Oliver go and turned away to wipe his face.

"I told myself I was protecting you by not telling you exactly how it happened," Siddiq went on, "sparing your feelings. Carl was _gone._ It would only make things worse to tell you how — _exactly_ how, I mean." He sniffed. He didn't meet Oliver's eyes. "I was lying to myself," he added. "I was protecting myself. I just didn't want to tell you. I'm sorry. I am. It was my fault. He's gone because of me."

He twisted in his seat and looked at Oliver then. Oliver watched him.

He cleared his throat.

He said, "I appreciate you explaining."

Siddiq sniffed. Nodded. Wiped his face and sniffed again. "I told him he could go," he said, "when things got too hectic. But he... stayed, and fought. He was so... brave."

"Yeah," Oliver said, "he was."

He got up and went back to the horses.

It wasn't long later that they heard the growling through the trees. Headed for the others. Oliver went after it. Maggie, Enid, Siddiq and Alden, too. They saw the walkers and they saw the others running, except Ken — Ken who ran back to free one of the mares still tethered to the carriage. He cut her loose and a walker grabbed him and sunk its teeth into his arm and the horse screamed and kicked him in the ribs.

Oliver felt sick. He ran ahead with the others and helped take out the walkers while Rick, Maggie, Siddiq, Enid and Marco helped Ken, but by the time the walkers were all dead, their friend was, too. Enid was crying, and Siddiq sat very still, and Marco turned away while Maggie did what she had to do.

* * *

Back at Hilltop, Maggie went to tell Earl and Tammy Rose what happened to their son, and not long later they held a funeral for him, but Maggie hadn't been invited. Gregory got out his scotch and passed it around for everybody.

Alden sang.

 _"'Tis the last rose of summer  
Left blooming alone  
All her lovely companions  
Are faded and gone_

 _No flower of her kindred  
No rosebud is nigh  
To reflect back her blushes  
Or to give sigh for sigh_

 _And so soon may I follow  
When friendships decay  
And from Love's shining circle  
The gems drop away_

 _When true hearts lie withered  
The fond ones are flown  
Oh, who would inhabit  
This bleak world alone?_

I'm gonna miss you, Ken," he added. "Heaven's a better place for having you. Cheers."

They raised their glasses and people stood at their leisure and said their small pieces to Ken and his family. Gregory was one of the first.

"Ken was a quiet, good-hearted young man. Wasn't a fighter. He tended to our animals. He shoed the horses. It was regular guys like Ken that keep a place going. He will be remembered as a son, a friend, a-a-a shining example of Hilltop's strength and fundamental decency even in the face of... this terrible tragedy. Cheers, Ken. Rest in peace."

For a while after Ken's casket was sealed and he was put in the ground, Enid, Marco and Oliver sat and drank for a while.

Marco kept his hands wrapped around his scotch glass and hadn't spoken for some time before he finally told Oliver, "I think you were wrong before. I don't think I try too hard."

Oliver thought about that, then shrugged and said, "Guess it's better to think like that."

"You think I'm naïve?"

"No," Oliver said. "I think it's brave."

Marco sighed. He got up and left. Enid and Oliver sat for a while and didn't say a lot, but they did decide together without more than a few eye-points to sneak away with one of Gregory's half-empty scotch bottles, which Oliver stuffed under his flannel shirt. There were still a few more bottles left anyhow.

They went to the orchard, wandering along the apple branches and sharing the bottle between them. Oliver thought about Carol and was a bit sad that they hadn't had much opportunity to talk to each other today, then he thought about Ken and that made him even sadder, so he drank more scotch until Enid took it from him with a steadying look into his eyes and to spite her he took out his pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one, clumsy with his hook and floaty-feeling fingers. He smoked as they walked. Enid didn't complain. He guessed she was just glad it was only a regular old cigarette.

Finally, Enid plopped herself down at the base of a tree and Oliver stood by her, keeping himself steady with his elbow against the trunk, watching the breeze glow the end of his cigarette and the ash as it blew away along the leaves.

"Is he still alive?"

"Who?"

"You know who?"

Oliver sighed. "Yeah. He's still alive. Still being punished, in a 'civilised way'... whatever that means."

Enid didn't say anything back. Oliver peered down and saw the crease between her dark eyebrows as she wrung her hat in her hands.

"I... I think he should have killed him," he admitted. "Rick should have, when he was out there that day. The day it ended."

"The day it ended."

Oliver looked up at the stars, that terrible sad feeling all clogged up under his tongue and along his throat. Sometimes he couldn't stand it, how the sadness never went away. It lingered in every breath and every thought and even in every smile.

He smiled down at her. "I talked to him, you know? Almost every day since he was sentenced. Sometimes I'd go down and see him instead of Carl's grave. Sometimes I would just sit and cry and... sometimes he would cry too."

Oliver stopped because he'd never told anybody that and it was worse because Enid didn't say anything at all. It was worse because she looked disgusted. Still, he knew she was listening, so he thought of more things to tell her.

"He told me about his wife, Lucille. About his job. His real name, even."

"I don't care."

Oliver held his breath.

Enid bit her thumb and glared out at the orchard and then she tutted and said, "So, you're both, what, friends now?"

"No." Even though he'd only had half the cigarette, he dropped it and made to snub out the rest with his boot but Enid picked it up and continued smoking. Oliver sighed and said, "I think I've decided to kill him if I see him again."

"Good."

Oliver shook his head. He wanted to laugh but he just sighed. It was oddly liberating, just telling a truth for once. One of the tucked away, secret ones.

"I had to get out of there," he said. "I had to get away."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

He sat with her at the base of the tree. She finished the cigarette and he finished the bottle. When she started shivering, he let her wear his hoodie, and at some point they heard Hershel cry out somewhere in the distance. They stood and stared into the night. The cries kept on. Not the regular kind of cries a baby makes but the desperate kind. Oliver rushed along the trees, Enid beside him. The crying came from the graveyard, where they found the toddler kneeling on the ground screaming with his overturned stroller nearby and two figures fighting in the dark.

"Oh, my God, Maggie!"

Enid lunged forward to pull Maggie's hooded attacker off but was thrown back and knocked out against a stone bench. Blood dribbled from her forehead. Oliver tackled the perpetrator and they both crashed to the ground. He hit him, and after the second punch Oliver could see it was Earl under the hood, and another punch knocked out one of his teeth. The seventh or eighth knocked the old man out cold and Oliver lost count of how many more punches there were afterward, just that he stopped because Maggie was shouting. His knuckles were bloody and numb, and he hoped that Earl was dead.

* * *

 **Notes**

Song Alden sang was a poem called 'The Last Rose of Summer' by Thomas Moore. The chapter was mostly adapted from the episode, except Siddiq's apology which was just another adaption of his apology to Eugene in the comic (issue 170) pretty much. I just thought he owed it to Oliver in this one.

Happy reading.


	21. A New Beginning, Part 2: The Hanging

**DampishPoet** Yeah, Siddiq's a cool lad. And yeah, sometimes I do wish we could have seen Carl living on. I think the show built him for that and, looking at it like a story, it was pretty anticlimactic that they just ended that. And pulling Rick out like that, too? Not to die but to do three movies that will likely add nothing to the show he came from? I dunno. It's like the show relies too much on killing/moving people despite not letting their story arcs finish and become self contained. Like they don't need to live but sometimes they do need to be rounded off and I think the walking dead lacks that a lot.

Anyway, mild shade aside, here's the chapter...

* * *

In the infirmary, Siddiq treated Enid's head injury and instructed Oliver to keep his bloody hand under cold water until he could look at it. Maggie went and confronted Gregory, who Earl said had convinced him to attack her. She was back within a few minutes, Gregory's knife in hand.

"What happened?"

"Idiot tried to kill me himself."

"Are you okay?!"

"I said tried, didn't I? Jesus is taking him to one of the cells." She bent over Enid and took her hand. "Is she okay?"

"She has concussion," Siddiq said, finished with the stitching and starting on patching her up. "She just needs rest." Once done, he turned his attention to Oliver's hand. He needed a few stitches but it was sorted within minutes, and after, Siddiq tended to Maggie's cheek while Oliver sat with Enid, holding her hand in his patched up one as much to be there for her as to hide how hard he was shaking.

"Try not to worry," Maggie told him. "She's going to be fine. I'm glad you were there for us. Thank you."

Oliver didn't say anything because suddenly Tammy Rose burst into the room, stumbling to hold the door open. Following after her was Alden, Marco and Bertie, lugging a very mangled-looking Earl between them.

"Oliver Grimes tried to murder my husband! He was beating him to death! He's a _monster!_ "

"I was trying to stop him!" Oliver yelled back, and other people were suddenly yelling too but it was hard to keep up. Maggie tried to talk everybody down, apologising, pointing out the state Enid was in too. Tammy Rose accused Maggie of starting this, that Earl was just reacting to their son's death, that they'd heard of the things Maggie and her old group had done before Hilltop and that they were scared of what they were capable of, that they were out of control. Oliver was furious.

"Gregory's manipulated you!" he shouted. "He set this up!"

Tammy Rose shoved him, and Alden coaxed her back. Siddiq was tending to Earl and trying to stay focussed among the chaos.

"Look at this boy — he's a maniac. He's ready to kill me right now," Tammy Rose seethed. "We can't have him here."

"Tammy, you've been drinking," Maggie said. "Let's talk about this tomorrow."

"I have never been more sober," she growled, eyes heavy and glaring. "He's _Goddamn_ dangerous! Look what he's done."

"No, I..." Oliver lost his words, and then he found what he wanted to say and said, "Go fucking fuck yourself! I was protecting my friends, you dumb fucker!"

Maggie looked at him like she didn't believe him. She controlled the situation with a lot of warnings and glaring, and Earl was treated. Tammy Rose spoke with Maggie by the door, growling under her breath while Maggie tried to settle her.

"My husband's eyeball nearly popped out!"

"That's an exaggeration. Your husband tried to murder me and he hurt Enid, who is lying right in that room. Earl chose this outcome the moment he listened to Gregory's lies."

Tammy Rose went on insulting her, and then she broke down crying. Maggie told her to go home, that she should sleep off her drink and that she would be notified when she could see her husband, and then Tammy Rose was gone.

* * *

Oliver had gone home sometime in the night and woke up the next morning with a hangover and a throbbing hand. As he got ready, he thought of the night before and tried to feel worse about it than he really did, but mostly he was just worried about when the others would find out.

At the infirmary, Earl was awake with Tammy Rose at his side. Oliver was expecting another argument but to his surprise, they both nodded to him and apologised when he came in. A little diminished, Oliver sat with Enid and kissed her cheek, which woke her, and they talked about things they would forget in little time, and later, as Oliver got up to leave for chores, he told her, "Love you," and she squeezed his hand and said, "Yeah," as he left.

At the stables, Oliver avoided any of Marco's questions about last night, and soon Rick, Michonne and Daryl arrived. Oliver tended to their horses and tried to stay out of everybody's way, which wasn't hard since his bad hand was slowing him down anyway, but finally, like he'd been dreading, he saw Rick marching across the courtyard towards him.

He stood there in front of the round pen and called Oliver over from the mule he'd been harness training. Oliver let it loose and met Rick, the fence posts between them, last night's events all clouded in his head, and waited for Rick to speak.

He didn't.

Neither did Oliver.

Then, smooth as drawing a revolver, Rick pushed open the fence, snatched the back of Oliver's shirt, and dragged him out and across Hilltop. People watched. Marco in the stables. Maggie on the balcony. Bertie in the crop fields. Nobody in the Blacksmith's.

Oliver was taken to Hilltop's cells.

"Is that you, Jesus? Maggie?" Gregory voice came from behind a shut door, shadows moving under the gap. "Oh, are you here to release me?"

"Shut up," Rick hissed.

He took Oliver into the cell next to Gregory's and stood in the doorway, shaking his head and watching Oliver stand there in the middle of the room. Four stone walls. No windows. Just dark and damp and empty, and one door in or out. Oliver tried to push away the thought that he might be feeling something of what Negan felt when he was first imprisoned.

"I need you to stay here," Rick said, and seemed grateful Oliver wasn't arguing, if not a little guilty that he was being so stubborn about it. "Oliver, look, I... I talked with Maggie. She thinks... Well, it doesn't matter what she thinks right now. Not with this. Not with your behaviour."

Oliver stood there, arms crossed.

"What you did goes against everything we've fought for. Everything Carl _died_ for," Rick said, and Oliver felt his face turn into something that even Rick faltered over. He gritted his teeth, pinched the bridge of his nose, and added, "Like I said, I talked to Maggie already. She doesn't think you should be in here, but she understands why I'm doing it." He sighed. "Look, she told me about the day Lori died. She told me what Lori said. I know you know it, too. And I know he... I know Carl would have told you. And he kept to it. It's... what he died for. So please, Oliver... _don't_ dishonour him on it."

Oliver just shook his head.

Rick shrugged, eyes damp. "What?"

"Carl was a dreamer," Oliver said. "What he told us in the church, before he died... It — It was a fantasy. _It wasn't real..._ You're just too ashamed to admit it."

Rick's eyes swam, and he just stared into Oliver's stony face. Oliver was shaking. If Rick noticed he didn't show it. He just wipe his face, then he looked at Oliver and it was as if he hadn't heard any of that.

"I am grateful that you saved Maggie and Enid," Rick said evenly. "Earl's going to be punished. But the fact remains, you tried to kill him. You stopped him, saved Maggie and Enid, and _kept going_ —"

"I was—"

"I know what happened!" Rick shouted. "We cannot kill people anymore! You need to grow up. Become a part of what we have worked so hard to build here." He shook his head. "We are all stronger when we work together. But we can't do that if we keep killing each other!"

Oliver hung his head, stepped back, and the daylight left him as the cell door was shut in his face. He heard it lock from outside. He heard Rick walk away. And he paced his cell until his ankle ached too much and he slumped down against the wall in a heap, head in the heel of his hand. He sighed. He pushed his fingers under his prosthetic and rubbed at the soreness.

"Got you 'put in', too, I see," Gregory said. "Some people are just—"

"Shut up."

"...Alright."

* * *

A long time later, Oliver's door was wrenched open. A gloomy, pale sunset shone across the floor and he moved away from the wall.

"Come on." Maggie was stood in the entrance, frowning and out of breath. "Earl needs this cell."

Oliver huffed a grin and exited the cell.

"Not so fast," Maggie caught him. "You're not locked up but you're still being punished."

"By Rick's hand," Oliver said. "He told me you didn't want me down here."

She didn't deny it, but still said, "You may live and work at Hilltop but you still abide under Alexandria's laws, for now at least. And you crossed a line. Rick says something has to be done. You're going to need counselling... something."

It occurred to Oliver that he'd blown his one shot at showing everybody at Hilltop that he was more than just _Rick Grimes' foster kid._

Maggie took his shoulder. "We'll figure something out."

"What about me?" Gregory asked.

They both left without answering.

On their walk back to the house, Oliver stayed quiet, feeling bitter over the attack and Ken's death and the fact that he'd spent all night in a cell, but most of all, in that moment, he was bitter the worst over his ending career.

Maggie seemed to sense this, and sighed. "It's complicated, but... it's important that Hilltop keeps an alliance with Alexandria and the other communities, and like it or not, you play a huge part in that — Look, I'll let Rick explain."

They went on walking for a few paces, then Maggie stopped on the Barrington House's porch steps and took Oliver's arm.

"Look, people'll talk," Maggie said, "you're Oliver Grimes — you sneeze, someone'll write a passage about it in their journal. But they'll get over it. Things blow over. Plus, they have worse things on their plate right now."

She'd said this as if there was more news Oliver didn't know of yet, but she didn't elaborate. She led him inside. Rick and Michonne were waiting. They explained that Daryl was staying at Hilltop after stepping down from his position at the Sanctuary, and along with that, Maggie made another deal with Rick regarding shipment: Hilltop would provide food for the Sanctuary, but only if they mended the bridge and provided Hilltop with fuel in return. It would create tension but things were already uncomfortable anyway, considering how bad Sanctuarys' living conditions had been since the war.

Then Rick brought up the last thing.

"You're coming back to Alexandria."

Oliver just watched him, thinking he'd misunderstood, thinking, of course, he wasn't going to run the stables anymore and would probably be moved to the fields, but this — moved from Hilltop altogether?

"It's that or you help on the bridge until it's finished," Rick added, his face a harsh sculpture — one of the bleak, eroding ones. "That's the deal. After what happened, this is the best arrangement I have to offer."

"The best for you, you mean!" Oliver wanted to shout. He wanted to shout, "I'm not him!" and "You won't get him back through me!" and "All you see in me is ghosts — I know it!" but he would never say those things aloud. Not to Rick. He knew he couldn't take it. What he'd said in the cell had already pushed it.

"I'll work on the bridge," he said.

Rick nodded, waving his hand, and Oliver went to his room — by choice or by sentence, he wasn't sure. He tried to rest but it was difficult from all the noise in his head, so he held Carl's hat to his nose and hummed _You Are My Sunshine_ into the rim and finally he managed to feel the cement inside his shoulders ease out into flesh again, for a little while, but still sat up eventually when he noticed a lot of voices outside through his ajar balcony door. He looked out and saw through the darkness people heading somewhere, murmuring and chatting about something.

He followed people downstairs and out of the house, where the crowd was headed towards the construction buildings. Rick and Michonne were there. Enid, too, in a wheelchair, and Oliver joined her. Daryl was standing with Tammy Rose and Earl. Earl's hands were bound. Across from them, Gregory was sitting atop the piebald mare's back, hands bound, and a noose around his neck leading up to one of the construction planks. The crowd stared up at him, silent. Enid gripped Oliver's shirt hem.

Maggie walked through the crowd.

"I don't want to do this," she said. "But people need to understand. At Hilltop, the punishment fits the crime." She turned to Gregory. "Do you have any final words?"

"What you're doing isn't right!" he begged. "Somebody stop this! Please! Killing me in the dead of night? Because you're ashamed?"

"I'm not ashamed."

"Stop this! Please! Now, for the love of God, stop it!"

Oliver saw Michonne turn to something and saw two kids wandering over to see what was going on. She turned back and tried to warn Maggie before she gave her command but it was too late — Daryl cracked his whip and the piebald mare bolted and Oliver heard the loud, jarring crunch of Gregory's neck breaking under his own weight. He watched him gag and writhe and hang, and before long he was still and swaying back and forth in the wind. The rope creaked. Crickets sang within the grass. The piebald's hooves thudded away across Hilltop.

"Get the children back in bed," Maggie said to the crowd, while Oliver rushed off after the mare. "I made this decision. But this is not the beginning of something. I don't want to go through it again... Cut him down."

Gregory's body hit the ground.

Oliver lead the horse back to her stable.

* * *

 **Notes**

Mainly stuff from issue 135 to 141, all mixed about to fit Oliver's circumstance. It's weird because the first time I wrote Oliver in that cell he met my version of Lydia. Who was going to be called Lydian and was a dude and there wasn't going to be any romantic arc, just a healing one or whatever. It was odd just deleting all that and writing him telling Gregory to shut up and that was it. Hope you enjoyed.

Happy reading.


	22. The Bridge, Part 1: Thin Ice

**Dampish** You got all of that on the nose. Thanks for paying attention. Means a lot.

 **Useless rant below.**

 **Sick of this. Book 4 (season 9 part b) is going to be exactly what the fuck I want tho. Swear it. There will be kidnap and death and horses. The men will be gentle and valiant and the women will be unabashed and marvellous. I will not follow the show like I always do (I probably will for the most part). I will trust my own decisions cos why shouldn't I? Nothing matters. Time is a lie. 8 billion people and all we have is ourselves. We're all just living and dying alone together. (The show is fine I guess I just have strong feelings and I also miss Oliver having a love interest so perhaps that's why I'm mad idk also it's my last semester at university ever right now and I'm losing the will to exist on this mortal plane I seek death and rest but I guess I'll settle for writing a book and buying every type of cheese for my partner and replaying red dead 2 for the fourth time and maybe getting a job when student finance runs out you know what I'm lucky to be alive and I need to acknowledge that shit enjoy the bloody chapter whoever of you are thank you)**

* * *

In the thirty-five days since Gregory's hanging, the bridge was still in progress. Over half of the workforce were from Sanctuary and the other percentage were an assortment from Oceanside, Alexandria and Kingdom, with the few volunteers from Hilltop who so far was only Oliver, Enid, and Daryl. Things were going as expected: slow, with a few fights that always involved someone from Sanctuary.

Still, progress was progress.

Oliver hadn't returned to Alexandria so far. Whether he was avoiding it or not, he tried not to think about, which was easy due to the amount of work that needed to be done. Plus, Enid was there every few days, working as camp medic, and Carol, who was always somewhere between the bridge and the Sanctuary on account of temporarily taking on Daryl's previous position. At the bridge, however, her role was mostly damage control for whenever something went wrong. Ezekiel came along to help, and to visit Carol, along with Henry who gave out water to the builders.

"You've got a few days off after today, right?" Rick asked as Oliver left his tent.

"Yup," Oliver said.

"Which means you can come visit us," Rick said.

"Maybe."

"Come on," Rick said, "Judith misses you. Michonne, too."

"I miss them, too," Oliver said.

"So?"

Oliver sighed. Smiled. "Sure." He'd been trying to make up for his outburst, especially since Rick had been pretending it hadn't happened. But it still showed sometimes. A glance. Or a sigh. And Oliver always felt terrible for it. It was giving him headaches.

"See you around, Rick."

"Yeah."

Rick left for the bridge while Oliver went to the gun shed. Rosita retrieved his Thunder 9 while he checked it out on the clipboard.

"Anything else?" she asked.

"Nope." He had his hunting knife on him already. "Thanks."

He'd planned to meet Henry, so, Thunder holstered, he left for Carol's tent, ignoring the jealous glances towards his gun from some Sanctuary folk on his way. Jerry was a better sight, saying goodbye to his girlfriend, Nabila, by their tent, and a few tents from them, Arat and Laura sharing mugs of coffee — who both were the more cooperative ex-Saviors around.

Ezekiel was helping Henry get his armour on when Oliver arrived, talking about the bridge and Rome's rise and fall and some other whimsical things that he tended to talk about. Then Carol came out of their tent and made a beeline for Oliver, this mischievous look on her face.

"You're in a good mood," Oliver said.

"Aren't I always?"

"No."

Carol told him his shirt was inside out. Oliver took a second putting it on the right way.

"You're overworked," Carol said, "and—"

"I'm losing weight, and looking pale," Oliver said, "and whatever else you can worry over about me." He smiled. "Everyone's overworked."

She grabbed his hand. "Look at these calluses!"

Oliver snorted and Carol put down his hand, tutting under her breath. She caught Henry as he was leaving.

"Hey, you forgetting something?" she asked him.

Henry ran back and kissed her cheek.

"Thanks," she said, in a 'that's not what I meant' way, then reached over to the tent and retrieved his combat stick for him. He and Oliver took off towards the bridge — Oliver gave him a noogie for good measure.

Ezekiel and Henry planned to leave for Kingdom soon. Henry had school and Ezekiel had his Kingly duties. And Carol was doing what Carol did best: staying away to look after everybody. Not far though, anymore. And not alone.

Oliver overheard Rick and Eugene talking about the slow bridge work, and the two herds close by — Margaret, who had a dead-head count of five-hundred, and Horatio, whose count was around a-hundred-and-fifty. They were diverting Horatio today, once Margret was far enough away not to be led to camp. It would be a tricky job, but it would work so long as they did it right. It helped to have a lot of loud horns and dynamite.

"Wait a sec." Oliver took Henry's shoulder and pulled him off course towards the infirmary tent. "Gonna say hi to Enid."

"Ooh, _Enid._ " Henry began making kissy noises and received another noogie. "Ugh! Quit it!"

Oliver released him and entered the tent, waving at Enid who was sitting on the floor reading a medical textbook. Oliver thought of Denise, briefly. Enid looked up. The crease between her eyebrows flattened.

"Hey, guys."

"Hey."

" _Eeeniiid_."

Oliver pushed his palm against Henry's forehead.

Henry yanked it down and scowled.

Enid huffed.

"Anyway," Oliver added, "you busy?"

She yawned. "No. I just woke up. Thought I'd get some studying in, but... I'm not doing well."

"Coffee?" Oliver offered.

She nodded.

Oliver looked at Henry and raised his eyebrows. Henry groaned and ran off to the campfire to get the beverage and while he was gone, Oliver helped Enid up from the floor and set her textbook on a table. She had a scar on her forehead now, shining red from the chilly spring morning.

"I have a few days off after today," Oliver told her.

"Lucky," she said. "I can't wait for this bridge to be done. I'm tired of all this travelling every day."

Oliver scrunched his nose. "Well, Hilltop's pretty far. You could always take the next few days off and come to Alexandria with me?"

Her smile wavered. "You're going back there?"

"To visit, yeah."

"That's cool," she said. "But... I can't. Siddiq's going back to Alexandria with the next escort and I've gotta stay here, and—"

"No, no. I get it. Totally." Oliver forced a smile. "Good luck. You'll do great."

Henry returned and handed her a tankard of steaming coffee. She thanked him and Henry asked about gory medic stories — there had been some dislocated shoulders and crushed toes and hammered nails through fingers since work on the bridge began, not to mention a few broken noses from fights.

At some point, Cyndie came over with Siddiq. She'd cut her hand and needed treatment. Oliver and Henry left them all to it.

* * *

While working on the bridge, talk began like it usually did about the food shipment that never arrived to Sanctuary from Hilltop:—"Why is that, farm boy?" one ex-Saviour, Jed, asked.

Oliver didn't reply. It was best not to, even if it was hard to keep his mouth shut and his fist still at the best of times. In fact, it was a miracle that none of the fights around had involved him yet. But after his stunt with Earl, Oliver knew he was on thin ice.

"Come on, Jed," Aaron said. "You know why the shipment hasn't arrived yet. The Sanctuary's fuel shipment never arrived first. That was the deal, remember? Hilltop get fuel, you guys get food."

"We'll be dead of starvation before that widow bitch gets her act in gear."

Oliver had to focus all his anger into the nail he was hammering. He dented the support beam. He was glad Maggie had been holding fast on this. Without the fuel, Hilltop's tractor couldn't move, and without a tractor the fields couldn't get ploughed. They couldn't even repair the new plough from the museum because Earl was still serving cell time.

"And, Christ," Jed went on, "didn't you hear, two others went missing a couple days ago. _We sent the shit._ The ones sending it just never made it!" He glared Aaron down. "Anyway, I wasn't talking to you. I asked _him_ where the shipment went. Where my _people_ went."

Jed snatched Oliver's shoulder.

Oliver shrugged him off and kept working.

"It's no use, man," Justin, a taller ex-Savior said. "You know that one's thick in the head. It's why they stick him with the livestock."

Oliver turned, fist drawn. Aaron stopped him. He took Oliver's arm and walked away to join Daryl at another part of the bridge, ignoring Jed and Justin's leers.

It took a while for Oliver to cool down. To take off the edge, Aaron started talking about Gracie. He was a proud father, even if she wasn't his by blood — "So, I go in after her nap and pick her up and the diaper just... explodes, all over me."

"Sounds like good times," Daryl said.

"Oh, the best. You'll see."

Daryl squinted at him, nail between his teeth.

Aaron smiled. "What? You'd be a great dad."

"Sure."

Just then, Oliver looked up at a clatter across the bridge and saw Henry being knocked down. Justin, standing over him, picked up the water dispenser and drank. Henry got up, yelled something, and knocked him down with his stick before picking up the dispenser and walking away.

Justin groaned and rubbed his knee.

Jed laughed at him. "Hey, man, it's cool, I got my ass handed to me by a kid one time, too. 'Course, I was six at the time."

Justin stood and followed Henry but Daryl was already there to stop him. "Kid's just doing his job. Get back to work."

"I don't need you telling me what to do," Justin said, moving around him. "You're not my babysitter anymore."

Daryl grabbed his arm. Justin swung around and threw his fist. Daryl dodged it and hit him in the nose, knocking him into a pile of filler sand. Justin grabbed a handful and tossed it at Daryl's face. Then everyone got involved. Oliver was brawling with Jed. Aaron was trying to keep people back. Daryl was twisting around on the ground with Justin. People were shouting and some were cheering and then Rick was there, breaking it all up.

Daryl spat blood.

Oliver rubbed his elbow and checked his prosthetic hadn't been damaged.

Rick turned to everyone. "Go back to work!" Though, just as Oliver turned to, Rick pointed at him. Daryl, too. "Both of you. With me, now."

* * *

After deducing that Oliver hadn't been responsible for anything except a few shoves against Jed, he was let go. Though, Carol asked him to wait for her outside. He sat silently in a small chair on the tent deck, listening the other's inside.

"We just need to keep working."

"What, and let that asshole get a free pass, is that it?"

"Daryl, it's just a few more days. I don't like it, either, but we're in a rush to get that work done. Justin's strong. The Saviors are over half the workforce, and we've had too many walk off already."

"Yeah. 'Cause that's who they are. Some of them ain't ever gonna fall in line, just 'cause you say so."

"Daryl's right, Rick. These people have never had to live together. And we can't expect them to just forget what's happened."

"It hasn't been easy. I know. It won't be, not for a while, but it's not about forgetting. It's about moving ahead, all of us, together. We keep doing that, they'll see we're all on the same side."

"Are we, though? Are we on the same side, Rick?"

"You tell me."

"Thing is, man, I've been tryin' to — we all have," Daryl said. "But you don't seem to want to hear it."

He left the trailer and Rick followed him outside, calling out, but Daryl was gone and Rick stood there watching. He looked at Oliver, gritted his teeth, and went back inside. He and Carol spoke in hushed tones. Oliver only heard some.

"It's complicated. It's been different since Gregory, maybe since before that."

"Then you should talk to him."

"And say what?"

"I get what you're trying to do here, Rick, and it's the right thing. But maybe for some of them, they're just not ready for it."

Carol came out then. She took Oliver's prosthetic arm and wrapped it around her shoulders. When he asked why she wanted him to wait for her, she pushing her forehead into his cheek and asked him, "Where are you meant to be headed right now?"

"Lumber yard," Oliver said.

"You got enough time for a lunch break?"

"You want to go to lunch with me?"

"Yeah," she said.

"Okay," Oliver said, and led the way.

* * *

 **Notes**

Quick fix: I said it was spring 2014, but I meant 2015. (I'm a writer not a mathematician)

Hope you are well. Let me know if you'd prefer more frequent updates. I've got plenty of chapters written out (up to date with the show tbh) but I've been going at my own pace while proof reading and updating due to uni and writing my own original book, so unless one of you has a specific request for more I'll just keep posting a chapter every few months or so.

Happy reading.


	23. The Bridge, Part 2: Pearl Earrings

**Wonderbitch26** Dude thank you so much that's really lovely to hear.

 **Hongo En** Thank you so bloody much! Yes, I hope so, too. It's on hold at the moment while I finish university. A few weeks left!

 **DampishPoet** Dude me too ngl oh boy

* * *

 **As much as I disliked watching this half of season 9 I really loved the second half so much. Luke, Kelly, Connie, Yumiko and Magna are so great and are the only reason I kept watching. Connie is amazing. Words cannot describe. And Luke. I love. I just do. So much. He's been my favourite to write. Ugh. I'm getting back that old buzzy-fresh-air feeling I've missed from the show for a while now. Hopefully you'll be able to tell if you read that far. For now, bridge stuff.**

* * *

At the dinner tent, Oliver found a bench to sit at while Carol got their food from the volunteers. When she met him, she sat opposite with her bowl and passed a second bowl to him. It was deer meat and kale in some kind of broth. They ate for a minute, and then Carol stopped and put her hand in her pocket.

She caught Oliver's eyes.

"I was waiting for when we could have a moment alone together," she said.

Oliver frowned and left his spoon in his bowl. He watched Carol take her hand out of her pocket and present two pearl earrings. He stared at them. It was suddenly very difficult to speak. "But I — I thought..."

"You threw them away, I know." Carol held her breath, then said on an exhale, "I found them. Took a while, but I did."

She tried to pass them over but Oliver moved his hand away.

He shook his head. "I gave them to you."

"I know." Carol winced. "It's just... things got so messy, for so long. I wanted you to be sure this time."

"Was then." He shrugged. "Am now."

Carol nodded and seemed to be working very hard to stay calm. She took a moment to put the earrings in her earlobes, and then they both went on eating.

Just as they were getting ready to go back to work, there was a loud explosion in the distance and they both looked around. Others in the tent, too, stopped to listen for a moment.

"The first step of Horatio's diversion," Oliver muttered.

A flock of crows squawked and flew through the sky overhead, spooked from the blast, casting shadows across the dinner tent canvas. Moving on, Oliver took his and Carol's empty bowls to the wash area, then headed outside. He and Carol were half way to the bridge before Rick came sprinting out from the treeline. He was out of breath.

"The diversion went wrong!" he yelled. "The last siren didn't go off. The herd's headed straight for the lumbar crew!"

Everyone ran as fast as they could but the herd was already there, and with not much more than a few guns and some melee weapons, people did what they could to take down the cluster. In the chaos, Oliver saw Daryl lugging Aaron over his shoulder — Aaron's left arm nothing more than a crushed mangle of bone and bloody flesh.

They fought on, and when it was over, and Horatio's hundred were finally down, Oliver, Rick, and Carol checked on everyone. Nobody except Aaron was hurt more than a few bruises and sprained ankles, so Oliver and Rick helped remove the corpses while Carol went to confront who was responsible for the last siren that never went off.

The dust from the lumbar mixed with the sudden excursion from fighting had brought on a small asthma attack and Oliver eventually was forced to go back to camp to rest. He could hear Aaron screaming from the other side of camp, and Daryl and Enid coordinating; Oliver knew what was going on — he could hear the sawing and eventually he could smell the burning flesh. He hoped Enid was okay. He could hear Carol interrogating someone in her tent, too. People were standing around nervously. Oliver just knelt outside his tent and waited, inhaler in hand.

After a long time Daryl finally left the infirmary tent, bloody and shaken and marching across camp to Carol's tent.

"And I don't give a _shit_ what you were trying—"

"Justin was supposed to turn that herd?" Daryl cut in.

"My walkie wasn't charged."

"Bullshit. It's a solar walkie. You didn't think to check it?"

"It's not my fault the radio's a piece of shit."

As quickly as Daryl had gone in, he and Justin were outside again. Justin was thrown to the ground, sending chairs and tables flying.

"Daryl, stop!" Carol yelled.

Daryl picked up a cooking pot and hit Justin hard across the face, then pinned him to the ground and beat him. Oliver rushed over. Others were gathering around, too. Henry ran to help but Oliver grabbed him and held him back.

"Daryl! Daryl, I said stop." He did. Carol pulled him up. "We'll deal with him, but not like this."

Daryl shook his head. "There's only one way to deal with these assholes."

* * *

That evening, Justin was sent back to the Sanctuary alone. After spending all day clearing the lumber yard and getting in a few hours of work to make up some lost time, Oliver finally had some time to himself. He cleaned up at his tent and then went to the infirmary to check on Enid. Aaron was laying on the bed. He had his eyes closed but waved his only hand when he heard Oliver's voice.

"Oliver..." Enid crossed the tent and grabbed him. Oliver held her. When she started to cry silently, he took her outside to calm down for a few minutes.

Eventually, Daryl came by to see Aaron. Cyndie came, too, for treatment on her hand, which Enid tended to. Oliver stayed outside as not to crowd the place. Rick came by, too.

"He's holding on," Daryl told him.

"Damn right I am," Aaron whispered.

Rick sat with him and apologised. "We were all supposed to be working together. I thought we were."

"You couldn't have known," Aaron said.

Rick sighed. "I've been pushing everyone hard. I know I have. I put this project first. And you paid the price."

"It was worth it." Aaron inhaled. "When the dead started to rise... I thought I was seeing the end of everything. But you changed all that, Rick. It's not the end of the world anymore. It's the start of a whole new one. I'll always be glad I was here to be a part of that."

Aaron's words set the tone for the rest of the night. People sat around a large campfire, laughing together and sharing their new world stories. Even Enid, who spent most of the night playing a card game with Dianne and Eugene and Rosita, wheezing over Tara's puns. Carol accepted Ezekiel's proposal; Oliver only noticed because he saw the ring on her finger across the fire.

With nothing to add, he went back to his tent. He took Carl's Stetson hat from his duffel bag. He hadn't meant to bring it, but it was always too hard to leave behind. He laid back in his sleeping bag and placed the hat over his face and pretended that it was talking to him.

 _Remember that time, back at the prison, when you told me how Wolverine could beat Superman? That he could just... run him a bath of_

"Liquid kryptonite," Oliver whispered.

 _I'd give anything for a bath._

Oliver sighed. He bit his mouth — biting back all the things he would've given for it to be real. All the things he'd have given for Carl to be there, outside of his head. Oliver would've given the clothes on his back. The thoughts in his head. The blood in his veins. He'd have given his whole life. All eighteen years of it. And if that wasn't enough he'd have given up the grass and the trees and the flowers and then he'd have given up the sky and the clouds and the rain. And every single storm until the only things left were the moon and the sun and the all the other stars and galaxies and nebulas. And he'd have given those up too.

He had to wipe his face.

 _First time I saw you,_ the hat said, _I thought you were a weirdo._

Oliver hiccupped and squeezed the hat tight over his face. These were always the conversations. The conversations Oliver regretted not having and the conversations Carl had written in his letter not to feel guilty for not having.

"First time I saw you," he whispered, "I thought your soul sounded like a tap left on."

 _You still think that?_

Oliver shook his head. "Your soul sounded like the ocean," he said. "All two-hundred-and-sixty-four-billion gallons of it."

 _Of course you know how many gallons are in the ocean?_

Oliver chuckled, then stopped and sat upright when he heard something. He put the hat aside quickly. Enid was leaning into the tent.

"Hi?"

Oliver inhaled. Eyes heavy. It felt late. He grumbled something in Italian and Enid stepped inside and knelt in front of his sleeping bag.

"Sorry," she said. "I was just checking on you. You were pretty quiet out there. Quieter than usual, at least. You okay?"

"I'm fine," he whispered. "Are you okay?"

She nodded. "Just... wanted to see you before you left tomorrow."

Oliver felt some big grateful swell in his chest then and he reached out and pulled her into the unzipped part of his sleeping bag.

"Could you sleep here tonight?" he whispered into her shoulder-blade.

Enid nodded.

"Are you sure you're alright?" she asked again.

"I'm just going to miss you."

Enid was quiet for a minute.

Finally, she whispered, "Today was hard. And some other day will be harder."

Oliver found her hand and squeezed it, and Enid's shoulders relaxed. They fell asleep not long after that, and by the time Oliver woke up the next morning Enid was gone.

* * *

Oliver left camp with Rick and a small convoy a half-hour before sunrise. They arrived at Alexandria late in the evening. The first to greet them, of everyone, was Scab. She skipped alongside their horses as they rode down the driveway and eventually hopped up into Oliver's saddle as they rode in through the big green gates, purring while he scratched her matted yellow fur.

It was wonderful seeing Judith and Michonne again. They had dinner together, just the four of them, and afterwards Oliver excused himself and left alone for the graveyard where he spent a while knelt beside Carl's grave. There were small white pebbles instead of a headstone in the shape of a C. After a little while, he got up, wiped his face, and went back to Rick's house.

It was Judith's bedtime. She picked out a book and Rick gave up his usual ritual of reading to her and let Oliver do it instead. As he read, the moon rose across the carpet and then settled on the skateboard by the time Judith fell asleep. Oliver put the book down on her bedside and sat there quietly listening to her breathe against his arm. He could hear Rick and Michonne whispering in the next room, a fox crooning outside, see the clouds drifting through the moonlit sky, casting shadows across his face.

Scab hopped up on the window-ledge outside and stared at him, the moon behind her head. Very carefully, Oliver manoeuvred himself out from Judith's bed and tucked her in, then let the cat in through the window. She went straight downstairs. Oliver switched off Judith's light and crept downstairs, too.

Some sheets and a pillow had been laid out on the couch already, since, like Michonne predicted, Oliver's old apartment had already been reoccupied.

Oliver sat and looked around. He saw on the wall by the door the sawn-off part of decking from the old house, two blue paint handprints marking Carl's last day with Judith, like a paused memory, or a strange exhibit in a museum that time forgot about.

Scab curled up on the couch with Oliver, kneading into his chest. He wondered if she missed her kittens.

Eventually, Rick came downstairs. Oliver sat up to shoo the cat away and busied himself with the things in his backpack.

"You know, that cat won't go near any one of us," Rick said.

"Really?"

Rick tilted his head. "Think she missed you, if I'm honest."

Oliver turned to Scab again and rubbed her head. So ratty and smelly. So loyal. "Could I take her back to Hilltop with me?" he asked. "When the bridge is done?"

"O' course."

Oliver had to swallow a lump. Scab purred and headbutted him.

"You need anything while I'm out?" Rick asked.

"No, thanks. You going to the pantry?"

"I was going to stop off there on my way back. But first, I'm going to the Brownstone cell."

Oliver hadn't thought about Negan all day, and in a small way felt guilty for it. Months ago, he'd gone almost every day to talk, and Rick hardly ever went at all. He wondered if Negan cared.

He swallowed. "Isn't it late?"

Rick shook his head in a mean sort of way. "He's up late usually. Plus, it's about time I get him up to speed. Want to come?"

"Why would I want that?"

Rick didn't answer, just stood there.

"No," Oliver said. "I don't want to."

Rick looked at the floor, nodded, then headed for the door.

"Goodnight, son."

Oliver shook his head. "Yeah. Night."

* * *

 **Notes**

I've been meaning to get those earrings back to Carol for a long time. And I've been meaning to get Scab to Hilltop.

Happy reading.


	24. Warning Signs: Beg

**DampishPoet** Scab is my favourite animal oc ngl. And yes me too, so much.

 **AGGXX5** Thank you! It's lovely to hear from you again. I hope you're well.

* * *

 _All we ever wanted was everything  
All we ever got was cold  
Get up, eat jelly  
Sandwich bars, and barbed wire  
Squash every week into a day..._

In the few days back at Alexandria, Oliver had things to catch up on, like Josh's overdue riding lessons and spending time with Judith. He tried therapy with Siddiq but the first session didn't last long, ending on a stale, awkward note, and without a plan for when the next would be; never, if Oliver played his cards well. He didn't feel too guilty for not being at Hilltop either. The horses would be fine without him, as they had Oscar, who was a newer stable hand but a good one and who wore a baseball cap and had a long, braided beard.

On the second morning, when Oliver was due to head back to the bridge, he awoke in Judith's bed — she'd started coughing in the night and he'd gone up and kept her company. Careful not to disturb her, he checked her temperature, then must've fallen asleep because the next thing he knew Rick was in the room, bending over them and checking Judith's temperature, too.

"She's okay," Oliver whispered. "I've been with her."

Rick smiled, nodded, then left, and Oliver stayed with Judith until she woke up, which was after Michonne, too, came in to check on her. A few minutes later, Oliver and Judith met Michonne downstairs and made breakfast. Michonne went back upstairs to work at some point after eating. Oliver played Judith some of his and Carl's old CDs, quietly, so Michonne could focus, and they listened to the tunes and played with Judith's dolls while Scab watched them in disapproval from atop the fridge.

Finally, Michonne came downstairs again. Rick, too —Oliver didn't remember seeing him arrive so assumed he'd snuck in at some point— and they took Judith to Siddiq for a check-up while Oliver went and did chores at the stables. There wasn't much to do, on account of it not being his job there, so he spent most of his time grooming Roan.

On his way back, Oliver caught Rick, Michonne and Judith on their way out of the infirmary. Judith told him, "Mommy and Daddy said we're having a family fun day."

"Ah," Oliver said, "so that's how you got her to go to the clinic." Judith didn't like it in there, not since Oliver made the mistake of telling her where he got his arm chopped off. Anytime she needed to go, it usually came with an added reward for motivation: Ice cream or a horse-back ride or in this case a family fun day.

"Yep," Rick laughed.

"I thought you were heading back to work with me," Oliver said.

"No, I'm taking another day off. You should join us."

It was easier to agree to it than Oliver thought it would be. They played hide-and-seek and then they had a horse race, which took place in the house on their hands and knees, followed by a sword-stick fighting lesson, a picnic, and finally ended by reading Wizard of Oz on the porch.

" _...But as the hours passed and nothing terrible happened, Dorothy stopped worrying and resolved to wait calmly and see what the future would bring. At last, she crawled over the swaying floor to her bed and laid down upon it. And Toto lay down beside her. In spite of the swaying of the house and the wailing of the wind, Dorothy soon closed her eyes and fell fast asleep._ "

Scott had arrived in the front yard and Rick and Michonne met him. Oliver listened from the steps and heard something about a missing Savior found dead:—"Someone definitely took him out," and Oliver got up, leaving Judith with the pictures.

He met Rick and Michonne and without speaking, Rick went inside to grab his and Oliver's duffel bags, and the two left to saddle their horses.

* * *

A fight had already broken out in the bridge campsite between the ex-Saviors and the rest by the time Oliver and Rick got there. The broke it up and strode their horses between both opposing sides. Arat rushed forward and took a weapon away from Jed, and Laura told everyone, "We are not doing this. Let it go!"

Aldon offered to talk to Rick to figure everything out, but Jed moved forward to grab him. Oliver rushed Roan between them, knocking Jed onto his elbows. He glared up at Oliver, who yelled at him to back off as he strode away.

"Start the redirect," Rick instructed. "Pair off to work the grid."

And that's what they did.

Rick dismounted and went to speak to Gabriel while Oliver hitched the horses and met Maggie, Alden, and Rick by the bridge. They were talking about finding out who killed the Savior, then Alden left and Oliver followed Maggie and Rick to the body. Struck through the chest in one clean, narrow blow. His arms and face and throat were eaten, but Oliver still recognised it was Justin.

"Who do you think did this?" Maggie asked.

Rick looked up and saw Daryl walking across camp and made to go after him. Oliver snatched his arm, then pulled him to he could speak in his ear.

"Rick," he said, "he wouldn't. You know it."

Rick shook him off. Oliver watched him go, shaking his head. Maggie stood by him, watching him, then, gently, she nudged his wrist.

"Come on," she said. "Pair with me."

* * *

Cyndie joined them, since Beatrice went with Arat and she said she couldn't find anybody else to pair with. They took a path south west along grid four. The crows were loud today, screeching across the forest from every direction. It reminded Oliver of Lorton.

 _"Call it out,"_ Rick's voice came from the walkie talkie.

 _"Grid one, clear so far,"_ Jerry said.

 _"Grid two is clear,"_ Gabriel said.

 _"Three is clear,"_ Rick said.

"Grid four is clear," Maggie added.

 _"Grid five is clear,"_ Arat said.

 _"Piper one,"_ Rick said. _"Anything up top?"_

 _"We're good,"_ Laura said. _"Nothing moving our way."_

 _"Stay sharp. Eyes open,"_ Rick said. _"We've still got missing people out here."_

Oliver pointed at three walkers dawdling into the treeline ahead.

Maggie raised the talkie. "Got activity nearby. Gonna go check it out."

 _"We're headed your way. Grid five do the same."_

"There's a house up ahead," Cyndie said. "Off the road. Could be coming from there." The three walked on the walkers' trails for a minute before Cyndie spoke up again. "We used to live near here. Before Oceanside."

There were two more walkers when they arrived to the house. Drawn by the broken roof slat hanging over the side of the house and slamming into the wall. Oliver, Cyndie, and Maggie stood off by a neglected truck and watched the dead, then Maggie reached into the truck and passed Cyndie a pitchfork.

"You and Oliver get the roof," she said. "I'll get them."

Oliver withdrew his machete and he and Cyndie headed for the house. Maggie walked around, whistling. Most of the walkers followed her. Oliver and Cyndie quietly took out the stragglers. Maggie took out the rest. Oliver and Cyndie peered up at the roof slap. Cyndie headed for the porch.

"Where are you going?" Oliver asked.

"I can reach it from up there."

Oliver shook his head and pointed to the house door. "There's more inside," he said. "If you go up there, they'll only get riled up. Do it from this side. Here, I can boost you."

She came back. Oliver positioned himself against the banister, hand cupped on his knee. She stepped up. Oliver pulled hard and lifted her enough that she was able to pull the roof slat down with her pitchfork and it clashed to the ground with a dirt cloud.

Cyndie got down.

"Thanks."

Oliver nodded and shook the ache out of his janky ankle.

"Should we take out the ones inside?" Maggie asked, wiping her bloodied knife on the banister.

Cyndie shook her head. "No. Leave them."

They waited at the old truck for a few minutes. Eventually, Rick, Daryl, and Rosita showed. "What happened to group five?" Rosita asked. "They should have been here before us."

Rick took his talkie. "Group five, what's your status?"

No answer. He tried again but nothing, so they went looking through the woods. Half an hour later, they found Beatrice, alone, lying face down in the dirt.

"Bea!" Cyndie said. "Wake up..."

She did, wincing.

"Are you okay?" Rick asked.

"Yeah." She sat up, holding her head. "I think so."

"What happened?"

"I don't know... Arat called in the all clear and we headed towards the road, and... I think something hit me from behind."

"And Arat?"

"I don't know."

Daryl handed her back her speargun.

Maggie walked over holding Arat's walkie talkie and knife sheath. "Whoever did this took her."

* * *

Everybody met at Carol's tent to speak privately. The sun was setting and time to find Arat felt like sand slipping through fingers.

"Do the Saviors know?"

"Not yet. They think Arat's on watch through the night. Come morning, they will."

"She could be dead already."

"If we don't figure out what happened, Sanctuary is gone."

"If that happens, we won't finish the work before the water rises. We'll lose the bridge."

"Yo," Jerry said. "Say we nab the perp. Then what? Who decides what happens next? Is it... another 'Gregory', or... a 'Negan'?"

"Well, whoever it is," Cyndie said, "when the time comes, they'll get what they deserve."

"Pair up with someone you trust," Rick said. "We're out there till we find her."

Carol went with Rick. Cyndie went with Beatrice. Maggie went with Daryl and this time Oliver was the odd one out. He was going to join Rick and Caryl but was told to go with Maggie and Daryl instead:—"I need to speak alone with Rick," Carol said.

"Okay."

He followed Maggie and Daryl back along grid five. The sky was the colour of rosewood, darkening with every moment, and the crows had given up their calls for the evening, turning the forest quiet and claustrophobic as the fog began to set in. The walk was silent between the three of them, but Oliver knew that there was bad air all around. Though, over the years he'd gotten better at filling silences. The ones that needed filling, at least. His theory was that it sort of came down to knowing when things needed saying, and saying something if it did.

"I think you did the right thing, Maggie," he said. "Killing Gregory. I haven't said so yet, but I do. And... I think Rick was wrong not to kill Negan that day. It wasn't his place to do that and... I think he knows it."

Maggie stopped walking and turned to him. She sighed. "Part of me wishes I could see things his way," she said. "Looking forward, not back. But every time I look at Hershel, I think about how things could've been. How it isn't, because of..."

She shook her head and was lost somewhere for a moment, then returned and looked at Oliver in the eyes.

She told him, "I just can't let that go."

Oliver nodded. He thought about Glenn and he thought about Denise and he thought about Abraham and all the others he'd lost because of Negan and his Saviors. Even losing Carl could be traced back to him: If they weren't so afraid to help people. If they weren't so preoccupied. If Oliver hadn't broken his leg in the fight. If he'd just been there to help out with Siddiq. Watching Negan rot in a cell could never take it back. Watching him die wouldn't. But the thing was, Maggie had never seen either, and Oliver saw now how deeply that was eating her.

A walker growled somewhere close by and they saw it crawling in the shrubs and another body lying near it. Daryl raised his crossbow but Maggie volunteered instead. One body was a Savior. Not more than a few days dead. Daryl yanked a long, thin, white bayonetted out of her chest.

"I know who took Arat," he said.

"Who?"

He looked at them both evenly. "Oceanside."

* * *

Maggie claimed to know where they would be. They went from the house with the broken slab and worked their way outward until they found a sign for an outreach recovery centre and followed it. There was a fence around the lot, boarded up by road signs, but one part had been trodden down and they passed over it and saw the building ahead in the dark at the end of their torches.

"So, how do you know about this place?" Daryl asked.

"I think it's where they lived before," Maggie answered. "It's what I'd do."

They found gas containers at the front door. As they got closer to look they heard someone nearby whispering.

"Beg..."

They went around back. Beatrice and some other Oceanside women were standing at the back porch, Cyndie, too, holding a gun to the back of Arat's head.

"Beg," she said again, "like you made them beg."

"Drop it!" Daryl yelled, his crossbow raised. Oliver had his Thunder. Maggie had her pistol.

Beatrice aimed her speargun at them.

"Bea," Cyndie said. "It's okay."

"You took out Justin with that thing?" Daryl said.

"He killed my husband," Beatrice said.

"Daryl," Arat sobbed, "please..."

"They got a reason?"

Her eyes were wet and wild. She muttered, "We've all done things."

"People will find out," Maggie warned.

"She's the last one," Cyndie said. "After this, it's over."

"Maybe for you. But it won't be. With something like this, it keeps going."

"This was our _home,_ " Cyndie said, her face all soaked and twisted. "My mother and my grandmother found this place for the group. There were so many of us then. Men and women. Kids. My mom and I built a garden. Me and my brother used to play right here. But then the Saviors came. And Simon wanted what we had. He gave us our final warning. Afterward, we ran. And we tried to forget. But, then, your people came and asked us to fight. We did because we couldn't forget. After Rick ended it, we went along because we didn't think we had a choice.

Until you hung Gregory.

That's when we knew. Rick's rules aren't the only rules. You showed us the way. It was time."

"You did this because of me?" Maggie asked.

Cyndie sobbed. "They murdered my mother. She shot my brother, right here. And they took _everything_ because they could."

"Please," Arat sobbed. "It's not like that anymore, okay? I'm— I'm one of you now."

"Did you do it?" Oliver asked. "Did you kill her brother?"

"Simon would've killed me, too!"

"You asked me to beg for his life!" Cyndie shouted. "He was crying, and you smiled! I told you I loved him. _I needed him!_ He was only eleven years old... And what did you say?"

"I— I don't remember—"

" _Say it!_ "

" _Please!_ "

"What did you say?" Daryl asked.

Arat looked at the ground. She sniffed. She inhaled and then she said, "'No exceptions...'" and they stood there staring.

Finally, Oliver, Maggie and Daryl turned and walked away. Arat begged them to come back. "You can't do this! I've changed!" She heaved and cried and then there was a small, empty grunt, and just the wind in the trees, whistling along the building and off and up into the cold night sky.

 _The sound of the drum is calling  
The sound of the drum has called  
Flash of youth shoot out of darkness  
Factorytown_

 _Oh, to be the cream..._

* * *

 **Notes**

Song was Bauhaus _'All We Ever Wanted Was_ _Everything'_.

Sorry it took me this long to figure out if I wanted to use the Oxford comma or not also I finished university and have a bachelor of arts in creative writing and am absolutely FILLED with existential dread!


	25. The Obliged and What Comes After: Merge

**After Dampish's comment I've decided to try to make Oliver a more active character in this arc. Sorry I haven't lately. I've been very distracted with finishing uni and starting an adult life, plus I was putting most of my efforts into making the next half of the season the best it could be, because I actually enjoyed that half. But with two chapters of this junk left, and much more time on my hands, I've put more effort into this chapter. Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

 _May I stand unshaken  
Amid, amidst a clash of worlds?_

 _Did I hear a thunder?  
Did I hear you break?  
I can't quite remember  
Just what guided me this way, oh..._

Enid was leaving today with most of the other convoys. Her work was more needed at Hilltop. So was everybody else's at all the other communities. Still, to Oliver, it didn't make saying goodbye to her any easier.

"You know, you could come along."

Oliver pulled a face. "I want to, but..."

"But Rick," Enid guessed. "Why don't you just tell him you don't want to stay?"

"He won't listen."

Enid tutted. She turned away and rubbed her head. "He can't keep controlling you like this. You're not his son. And the bridge? It's... It's _just_ a bridge."

Oliver looked at her. He thought of the rushing water crashing beneath the bridge's foundations, ready to wash it all away — ready to wash Rick away, too.

It wasn't just a bridge.

Not to him.

"More and more people are giving up," Enid went on. "At this rate, you're working backwards. You know how it's going to end. How it _is_ already ending."

Oliver sighed. "C'mon."

At the carriage, he told Enid, "See you... soon." And she hugged him, then climbed up and took her bags as he handed them up to her, and in a few minutes she and the Hilltop convoy were gone.

"Hey," Jerry said from his horse, "you seen the queen? Her convoy's waiting."

Oliver frowned, then nodded. "Yeah. Sorry. She's waiting for me. We'll be along in a minute."

"No problem," a guard driving the main carriage said. "Just let her know we're ready to go when she is."

Jerry rode away for a perimeter check. Oliver raised his chin to the driver, then headed to Carol's tent. Inside, she was sitting at her desk, playing with her ring. All her things were neatly packed into a duffel bag. She stood up when Oliver entered.

"It's okay," he said, "we don't need to make a big deal out of this."

Her eyebrows were high on her forehead.

"You're leaving for Kingdom," Oliver added. "Not leaving forever."

She gave him an appreciative smile, then sat again. He came over and sat, too, beside her at the edge of her empty cot, with an arm around her shoulders and his nose in her hair.

"Are you a queen now?"

"What? _No._ "

"Not what Jerry says."

"Well, you know Jerry, he lives in the clouds."

 _Lucky,_ Oliver thought, and said, "If you say so, your Majesty..." She pushed him off his seat and he stumbled and laughed and then Rick entered the tent.

"Hey," he said, gently.

"Hey," Carol replied.

"Just heard you and your people are leaving, too."

"Yeah. Was just saying goodbye to Oliver."

Rick smiled and shook his head.

Carol sighed. "You've seen it out there," she told him. "It's time to go."

"What about the Sanctuary?"

"They need to try standing on their own."

"What if they can't?"

"It's on them. They don't want us anymore. But they don't want Negan anymore, either. Not most of them, anyway... Rick, they'll figure out who they want to be."

"Like you did."

"Like we all did."

Rick sighed. He glanced at Oliver, then at Carol. "You both've been through so much. We all have. But, if any two people were to give me hope for how things can turn out, it's you both."

"We don't know shit," Oliver said. "Just like everybody else."

Carol sighed and put her hand on Rick's wrist. "I am sorry. I really wanted it to work. I really did."

"I know. I know." Rick rubbed his forehead. He smiled at her and waved her away. "G'on, get outta here."

Carol nodded. She hugged Oliver goodbye and got him to promise to visit Kingdom sometime. He carried her bag outside for her. Just as they came down from the deck, Jerry rode over.

"Got somethin' for you, jefe," he told Rick.

"What is it?"

"Maggie's running down to Alexandria. Jesus thought you should know pronto."

Oliver felt his stomach lurch. He dropped Carol's bag, then picked it up and apologised to her.

"When did she leave?" Rick hissed.

"Dunno," Jerry said. "Call just came in from the Hilltop relay."

"Did he say anything else?"

"Just that... you'd know what that means. Sorry, man, that's all I got."

"Thanks, Jerry," Rick said, grabbing his talkie and walking off.

Oliver stuttered at Carol but she seemed to understand what he wanted, so she took her bag, kissed his cheek quickly, and wished him luck under her breath. Oliver headed straight to Roan. Daryl met him.

"Stay," he said harshly. "Me and Rick will go."

"No," Oliver said. He looked at Rick, who was asking Rachel over walkie talkie to send an urgent message to Alexandria to delay Maggie at the gate. Oliver looked at Daryl again and whispered, "I know what you're doing. I want to help. Take Rick on your bike. Divert him, distract him, fucking tie him up — I don't care. Just don't let him get there. Not yet."

Daryl watched him, eyes narrow, then nodded. "Go."

 _"Copy that, Rick,"_ Rachel said. _"Will relay your message right now. Over."_

Rick headed for the horses but Oliver had already mounted up.

"Hold up, son."

"No, I'll meet you there," Oliver lied, and on cue Daryl came over to offer Rick a ride. He caught Oliver's eye behind Rick's back and Oliver nodded, then kicked Roan into a gallop out of camp.

* * *

Oliver rode as fast as he and Roan could manage. He could feel the thrill of it in Roan's stride, hear the harsh, heaved breaths between dusty stomps as they powered on along the trails until froth was building under the saddle and on Roan's flanks and mouth. And still they galloped on.

They got to the first relay point and skidded to a stop when they saw Rachel writhing around on the ground, clutching her ankle. "Help! Help me! I got bit by a snake!"

Oliver got down and rushed over to her. "Come on," he said, "I'll take you to Alexandria. I'm on my way there anyw—"

"No!" she sobbed. "No, take me to the camp medic."

"Enid's left for Hilltop. Alexandria's closer. Rachel—"

"No, ah! The pain!"

Oliver stood back from her and frowned. He crouched again and told her to show him the snake bite, and she said no, so he yanked her hands away and saw no bite. She peered up at him guiltily, out of breath. Oliver wasn't sure whether he should feel a fool or not. At the very least he felt like an impressed fool; being tricked so easily by a thirteen-year-old.

"You messed with the relay?" he asked.

"So what?" she asked.

"Yeah. So what? You did great. I need to go."

"No!" she shrieked.

"Look, I'm not going to stop Maggie, alright? I'm going to help her. But I need to get there before anybody _does_ try to stop her." He got back on his horse and after some tutting Rachel returned to her watch post.

"Later," Oliver said, for good measure.

"Hm," she huffed, reading her fashion magazine.

* * *

When Oliver arrived at Alexandria the first thing he saw was Ken's old piebald mare and another palomino, and Dianne, who must've accompanied Maggie. Oliver left Roan with her, explaining why he was there, and then he ran to the Brownstone apartments.

Michonne was standing outside.

He couldn't tell what she was feeling when she saw him. She mostly seemed surprised that he had arrived so quickly. He was sweating and out of breath and felt as though something was spinning in his stomach.

"She's inside," he said, not sure if it was supposed to be a question. Not sure what he was feeling most. Excitement? Horror? Guilt? Grief.

Michonne just looked down at the floor. Slowly, Oliver stepped to the door and put his ear to it. Hearing Negan's voice for the first time in almost six months skewed something in his brain, like re-reading a book years later and although it's the same story, it's as though it's being told in a new, strange way, like it's been rewritten somehow. Negan sounded rehearsed and worn out, like an old circus animal — coated in his same old bullshit, just no good at hiding it anymore.

"I remember how much I broke you breaking open your husband's head."

"His name was Glenn."

"So now what? You finally come for... revenge?"

"Justice."

"Take you this long to work up your nerve?"

"I was always gonna settle what you did."

"What I did? Popping out his fucking eyeball? While you and his buddies watched? Hmpf, I used to say that I didn't enjoy killing. It was true, for the most part. But your old man — fuck, I forgot his name again — he was different. Killing him, now, that was fun..."

Oliver found it difficult to hear him. Negan was speaking so softly. It was like trying to listen to a withered plant. He pushed his ear harder against the door.

"Let me see you in the light," Maggie said.

There was a short pause and a grunt. "Just get to it, lady," Negan said, voice a monotone croak. "Kill me. Do you not have it in you either?"

"Come into the light."

"Kill me."

The cell door opened.

"Why?" Maggie asked. "Why should I?"

Negan didn't speak. But Oliver knew the answer. They'd talked about it at length, months before. Negan wanted to be with his wife, Lucille. He wanted to be dead, just like her. He wanted Maggie to be the one who did it, who settled it. Settled him.

"Get back in your cell," she growled.

Oliver heard shuffling.

"I came to kill Negan," Maggie went on, "but you're already worse than dead."

Oliver noticed a small scratch in the paint on the window and peered through. There were wooden shutters in the way but at the right angle he could see through a chip in one slat. Maggie was standing at the open cell door with Negan knelt before her: no more than a breathing corpse, staring up at her with wet, empty eyes.

Maggie came out not long later. She locked the door and stood before Oliver and Michonne. None of them said a thing. On their way back to the horses, Dianne ran over, talkie in hand.

"Something's up with camp."

* * *

The only real silver lining everyone left at the bridge had held on to over the last few days was that the two herds, Tybalt and Cordelia, weren't conjoining. But something had gone wrong. An argument with the ex-Saviours, Dianne said, and one gunshot to lure them all.

They rode as quickly as they could but by the time they arrived, camp was overrun. To avoid them merge, they went another way towards the bridge and found Carol and the rest of the Kingdom convoy in the forest nearby, who had all had to hide when the gunfight broke out. They found Jesus next, with Rosita, Eugene, Tara, and Beatrice. And Daryl, who told he and a few others were putting dynamite on the bridge to help Rick send the dead out to sea.

They ran to help and found him there, standing bloody on the other side of the river with the bridge holding steady underneath him. The walkers were coming. Some they had to shoot at with what little of their firepower they had left to stop them crossing or getting too close to Rick. They just needed to wait for Rick to be in the clear.

"Where is he?!"

"There!"

Oliver could see him on the other side, surrounded. "Keep fighting, Rick!" he shouted, but Rick just stood there in the middle of the bridge. Daryl shot one that got close, and another that lunged at him. Rick raised his gun at the oncoming herd, at the box of dynamite.

" _Rick!_ "

The blast threw Oliver to the ground and the bridge went up in fire and smoke. He saw walkers tumbling down into the rushing river, and on the far side, Rick was gone.

Oliver's ears rang. He got to his feet, surrounded by chaos and bodies. Michonne was screaming. Carol and Maggie were holding her. Everyone else was just watching, like they didn't believe it.

Oliver didn't waste time following the river current east. It was hard to stay ahead of the rushing water and soon walkers were sweeping by faster than he could keep up, gnarling and gargling at him. But Oliver didn't give up. He had to try to get Rick before he washed out to sea. After everything. After how much Oliver doubted him. He'd take back all the awful things he'd said and thought about him over the last year. He'd build the bridge again,and again, if only he could just _find_ him. If only he could just run faster.

He fell on a root and crashed into the water. The cold stole the air in his throat. He tried to stop the current from pulling him out but the riverbed was too soft to grip under his shoes. The water ate him. While he was under, something snatched his ankle then let go with a rip and Oliver screamed. Air bubbles escaped to the sky. When he thought he would drown, he came up to the surface, spluttering and choking. A walker snarled and span past him. Then another. He fought for the riverbank and eventually caught hold of a thorn bush in his hands and it ripped his skin and clothes as he clawed his way up to safety. He laid there in the grass and thorns, torn up and soaked in mud and blood and water. The currant had carried him a long way in the few moments he'd been trapped in it, and he looked at the field he'd found himself in. He wasn't too far from camp. A few miles at most. As he caught his breath he watched the sky and could see the black smoke coming from the explosion, and suddenly a buck as it rushed from the forest, away from the smell, and across the land alone.

With some strength back, he sat up and checked himself. Whatever had torn his ankle hadn't cut him too deeply, but depth didn't matter if it was a walker. Time would tell, and he was terrified, so he simply rolled down his jeans' leg and tried to stay calm.

He'd lost his inhaler in the water, and his prosthetic arm, and a right shoe. He didn't want to go back to camp if he was dying. And if he was to live, he didn't know where he wanted to go instead. Not back to Hilltop or Kingdom or Alexandria. Not yet. The loss and lack of loss was like being hit by a speeding car. First Carl. Now Rick. It sent him off in shards across Virginia and it was as if he was out there looking for all the pieces. He didn't eat. Didn't sleep. Didn't look back. Just kept on walking.

By the end of the second day his ankle was so swollen that he could barely walk on it, and he finally succumbed to pain and exhaustion and passed out where he stood.

He woke up inside an old shack. It was dark and warm and he was wrapped in several blankets. Flecks of starlight streaked in through the gaps in the brittle tin ceiling above. His ankle stung and when he took a sheepish look it was wrapped in a clean bandage. Under it, the swelling and puss had gone, and a scab was forming. A small, half-empty box of antibiotics were set beside him. He'd have felt relief if he weren't also suspicious that he'd been kidnapped — he vaguely remembered a figure sitting beside him tending to the fire. There was a cooked hare carcass hung by the put-out fire across from him, a spare shoe, some basic supplies, his machete, his gun, knife, and someone's coat.

His prosthetic, too, had somehow been recovered.

Not kidnapped.

He ate the hare, then got up and limped outside. He realised this was the same shack he and Rick once stopped at on their way to Hilltop months ago. Oliver looked around and saw it again. The buck. As if it had been standing there waiting for him. It watched him. Then it went on at a trot over the hill. Oliver looked up to the sky, like he had that day, only this time the night sky was a galaxy-blotched canvas.

He heard something around back and found Roan tethered loosely to a tree. His saddle laid on the ground nearby and a note was tucked under the stirrup, reading the words _'Go home'_.

So Oliver did.

* * *

Lorton was much wilder than when he and Carol had last left it. In the years since visiting, Oliver had never gone back once, but after unsaddling Roan and leaving him to graze in the fenced backyard, of which his parents' and infantile brother's graves were left overgrown and barely distinguishable, bar their headstones, Oliver found the spare key under a rock and walked in through the backdoor as if he were returning home from a nine-to-five work day.

He shut the door and set the keys on the counter. He went upstairs to his bedroom, sneezing and wheezing as he shook out the dust and dirt from his moth-eaten bed sheets, then curled up under them and slept.

 _May I stand unshaken  
Amid, amidst a clash of worlds?_

 _Mmm, oh, traveller  
What have you seen?  
Were there crossroads  
Where you been, where you been?  
I once was standing tall  
Now I feel my back's against the wall..._

* * *

 **Notes**

The show's Negan seems more emotional than the comic Negan, which is fine, I just prefer he be a little more of an emotionless empty zombie instead of sobbing. Also I enjoyed Rachel and Oliver's exchange a bunch. Since the whole Rick kidnap I guess we know where Heath went now. And Noah in this fic. It's a shame. I was hoping to integrate him back into Oliver's life one day. Maybe I still will, but I'll wait to see if certain rumours come true first. Song was _'May I Stand Unshaken'_ by D'Angelo from the Red Dead Redemption II soundtrack. I finished that game in 5 days with around 65 hours of gameplay (I've since replayed it 3 or 4 times). I waited seven years for it and it was so worth it.

Thanks for reading.


	26. When You Remember Us

**DampishPoet** Perhaps he was just a bit delerious after losing Rick, injuring himself, and oxygen deprivation from losing his inhaler, so he was making rash decisions, although I didn't write this clearly in any way so who knows. (Answer is I actually just wanted this story to end at his home in Lorton and that happened yeet)

 **SophTheSoap** Hello, nice to hear from you! Oh no don't be embarrassed I was cringy as fuck back then too oml. 2016 was a long time ago, friend, u good. If you do, there's a lot I've changed, and a few things I'm still planning on changing if I'm honest, especially around the Claimer arc, but we'll see. And yeah I don't know why I still do this shit, but it's good practice for writing my own stories. So that's good. I hope it's been a good few years for you!

* * *

 **End of Book 4: One Day**

* * *

 _What I've learned from the ocean  
Hard to dance and rejoice in the motion  
Let the sun have its moment  
The moon will come  
What I've learned from a soldier  
Every man is a son to a daughter  
And we only remember  
When we see the blood_

Oliver awoke in darkness, suffocating and alone. He didn't remember a lot in the few moments he was conscious, just that he needed his inhaler desperately and found one, by some miracle, under his dresser, almost empty but enough, before falling asleep again, as if he'd awoken from a dream into a dream, only to fall back asleep into one all over again, where he slept until the next afternoon.

He must've gotten sick. He was in and out of reality for what felt like days. There were strange moments of thinking the past four years had been a vivid dream, and that somehow he was fourteen again, waking up in his bedroom, wondering why his mom hadn't come in to remind him he'd be late for school. He remembered who he was slowly. He was Oliver de Luca. Eighteen. An orphan. A killer. Alone and lost all over again.

He got up and tidied his room — he didn't know what else to do, since he was too tired to make the journey back to any of the other communities but too restless to sit around and do nothing. He made his bed and reordered his old, rotting clothes, shooing out the family of mice under the desk and trapping all the spiders in glasses and throwing them out the back door. He tidied Patrick's room, too, which was easier because he hadn't left his window open. Then he tidied his parents' room. There wasn't much he could do about the blood stains and the rot or the broken window, but he could tidy their bed and their things at least. Downstairs, he tidied every room and left the kitchen until last. There was a mountain of garbage and dirty dishes in the sink and on the counters, and the fridge was in a worse state, but he threw out all he could using an unneeded, moth-eaten bed sheet to carry everything outside, and then he went to the creek a few minutes away and fetched buckets of water and came back to the house and did the rest of the washing up. All of it. He didn't have a plan as to why he was doing all of this but he figured he didn't need one. For now cleaning the house was enough.

Sometime long after nightfall, the house was clean. Roan was still happily grazing in the back garden with a spare bucket of water, along with a blanket that Oliver tied around his shoulders and middle with string to keep off the night chill, and then, there was nothing left for Oliver to do but think about how hungry he was.

He sat on the kitchen counter.

The door leading to the staircase was open and even though his parents weren't up there anymore it still made him nervous, so he shut it with his foot. He listened to the cayotes crooning in the distance outside. There were no walkers that Oliver had seen yet. This cul-de-sac was similar to Alexandria, really, only no huge houses or solar panels. But it was off the beaten track, like there, and untouched, pretty much. Safe and quiet. It could have easily been where Alexandria was set up at the start.

He'd found some papers earlier in the day, tucked away in his parents' bedroom, addressed from the Prince William County Circuit Court. Divorce papers. Oliver laughed when he read it through. He wasn't sure why. And then he'd cried.

The next day, when the hunger was turning him desperate, he noticed a murder of crows crowding in the sky near his house and followed them. They led to the neighbouring allotment, overgrown now and filled with wild herbs and fruits and vegetables. He picked as much as he could from what the crows hadn't yet destroyed and brought it back with him. He left the backdoor open while he prepared so Roan wouldn't get lonely, and spent a while dicing some of the vegetables to make something of a stew, which he boiled over a fire he made in the garden. At some point while doing this he turned and caught Roan standing at the foot of the backdoor stretching his long neck across the kitchen counter to steal the aubergines and blueberries.

Oliver rushed over and shooed him back out, then gave him several apples as substitute.

There was a knock at the door.

Oliver froze. Roan, too, stood and stared at where the sound had come from. Oliver couldn't believe he'd been so stupid as to light a fire. Even in the day it was a beacon for anybody looking. He took his gun from his hip and went to the door. He peeked through the peephole. He sighed and opened the door.

"Good morning."

Carol inhaled. "It's two o'clock in the afternoon, sunshine. I brought you these..."

He took a few inhalers from her and wondered if she was clairvoyant, but decided not to ask. Instead he took several urgent puffs from a full Ventolin and then while it worked its magic in his pipes he spent a moment thinking of something to say. "Err. Thank you... Do you want some stew? It won't be very good."

Carol stood there, nodding, so Oliver stepped aside. They talked for a while but not about anything very important. Oliver didn't know how to bring up the bridge, nor did he want to, so he kept away from it and finished cooking and put out the fire and served up the stew. They ate together on the porch, watching Roan graze. Oliver asked how Carol was doing and she said she'd been looking for him.

"Did the fire give it away?"

"No. I just... had a feeling."

Oliver nodded at his bowl.

"I found Daryl first," she added. "He's been AWOL, too, since..." She didn't finish and Oliver was glad. "He told me he left you with some supplies, and your horse."

"Oh." Oliver couldn't think of what to say, so he looked around the room and thought of another subject. "It's smaller here than I remember," he said.

"Well, you're bigger."

"I'm... not."

Carol put down her stew bowl and reached across and took his hand. "You can come back to the Kingdom, if you want to. I'm raising Henry now. I can... raise you, too."

Oliver smiled at the thought, then frowned at the ground.

"I'm sorry," he said.

She shook her head, tears brimming. "I understand. I was there, once, too."

"Yeah."

They finished their stew. Carol kissed his cheek and gave him the longest hug they'd ever shared, and then she left.

Oliver stayed in Lorton for several more weeks after that. It was comfortable and quiet. He fished in the creek and did his best to cultivate the allotment — stringing up a walker on a stake to act as a scarecrow. He took Roan for perimeter checks every day and visited local drug stores looking for inhalers but ended up finding none, sure he and his brother had simply cleared them all out in their time here after the Turn, so the few Carol had brought were enough for now. He eventually began visiting local libraries to keep filling his bookshelves at home. He picked flowers for his parents and brothers, leaving a fourth set for Patrick against the fence in place of his distant headstone. He cried a lot. Sometimes he spent whole days crying, and on other days he would feel okay again, and he would eat, and sleep, and get on with things.

Carol had been by a few times and they would spend a few days together, or sometimes if he'd missed her while at the creek or the allotment, Oliver would simply find a book or a packed lunch and some supplies on his front door with a note wishing him well or filling him in on any news.

Somewhere around the third month Michonne visited him.

"Oh, Oliver..." she said.

He knew he looked a bit different to when she last saw him. He hadn't shaved and his clothes were his father's, moth-eaten and old, but he had been keeping clean and fed, mostly.

They hugged and he let her inside.

"So, this was..."

"My house, yeah."

"It's lovely."

He knew she was lying but thanked her anyway. He offered her coffee because he had some from one of Carol's visits and there was still hot water after boiling a few pots from the creek. No milk though. Regardless, Michonne said she better not, so he drank a mug alone.

"How have you been?" he asked.

She nodded. Oliver knew what that meant.

"And you?" she asked.

"I'm okay. Just... here."

Michonne nodded again. She had a strange look on her face. Oliver couldn't place what it meant. She didn't seem happy but she didn't seem sad either. Not right then. She was fidgeting and not meeting his eyes for very long.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I... didn't know who to tell first. Judith doesn't really understand these things and... Maggie hasn't been in contact with us since... everything... and... Kingdom is very far and... well..."

"What is it, Michonne?"

She looked at him.

She said, "I'm pregnant."

"Oh..." Oliver sat with this information for a moment. "Congratulations," he said, and realised that he meant it and said it again. "Oh my God. Congratulations!" He hugged her. He couldn't keep still. "How long have you known?"

"A couple months. Maybe more..." She shook her head. "I guess I wasn't really paying attention."

Oliver's heart ached.

Michonne was quiet for a minute, wringing her hands. "I just... wanted you to know."

Oliver nodded, eyes welling. Michonne made a small gasp, remembering something, and reached into her duffel bag and took out Carl's Stetson hat and passed it over. Oliver took it, blinking back the tears.

"You should return to Hilltop," she said. "It's your home. Just like Alexandria is. And the Kingdom."

Oliver bit his lip.

Michonne shook her head, then stood. "I'll visit them soon. Will you be there?"

Oliver nodded, and meant it.

"Hopefully you'll be shaved by then, too," she joked.

"Sure."

They hugged again and Oliver walked Michonne to the door and when she had ridden away he paced around the house and tried to busy himself tidying again, this feeling in his chest like something terrible was going to happen. But hours passed and nothing did. And he found himself gathering his things together into a rucksack. At last, he made sure all beds were made and doors were locked. He said goodbye to his parents and brothers. And in spite of how afraid he was, Oliver led Roan out onto the street and climbed up. As he rode away, he put on Carl's hat.

 _Do you still feel sad, when you remember us?_

"Sometimes."

 _Are you sad now?_

"No."

 _Sometimes it's nice to remember, huh?_

"Yeah," Oliver whispered. "Sometimes."

 _What I've learned from a traveller  
There's no road that can lead to nirvana  
There's a world to discover  
But home is love  
What I've learned from a mirror  
Look too hard and you'll find you a stranger  
Love is just a decision  
The choice is yours_

* * *

 **Notes**

Song was Slow Up by Jacob Banks. Used a bit of inspiration there near the end from the Wizard of Oz extract. Also, no shade, but I thought the scarecrow walker was actually a good idea.

Thanks for reading.

I'll upload a new story soon, which I enjoy far more, but for now I want to know where the show is going first. I've never had a gap between books on here so I'm trying it out. If you want to read on, check/search my profile **_notmuchmoretosay_** sometime around mid-season 10. Sounds like a long time away, but I'm willing to wait and I've been going nuts over it so hopefully you'll be a little interested too if it pops into your head after the 7th or 8th episode? We'll see. Have a good one!

Happy reading!


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